


Life, Interrupted

by silver_etoile



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silver_etoile/pseuds/silver_etoile
Summary: After an embarrassing break-up finds Stiles crashing on Scott’s couch, Stiles is supposed to be figuring out his life, not lusting after Scott’s gorgeous, but surly, neighbor. When real life catches up with him, Stiles will have to make a choice: move on or make the same mistakes all over again.





	Life, Interrupted

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something, but I didn't know what. So I threw in everything but the kitchen sink.

The windows rattled ominously, like they might just fall out of their frames if the rain got any stronger. Outside the front window, the large creaking tree bent over against the wind and Stiles pushed back the curtain, peering into the darkness that was Scott’s front yard, puddles of water rapidly filling up on the grass.

“How can you not have candles?” Stiles asked, gripping his phone tight, turning to the dark living room as lightening cracked and he jumped at how loud it was, like it was directly over Scott’s mess of a house. Stiles wanted to demand why Scott had chosen a rickety old house on a dead-end road to rent when he could have been in one of those starkly average apartment buildings he’d seen in town, but he was more focused on the fact that the power had been out for the last ten minutes and Scott had neither candles nor flashlights.

“Why would I have candles?” Scott asked on the other end of the phone and Stiles cursed as he ran into the coffee table, knocking a dent in his shin.

Rubbing his leg, Stiles rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. If you ever wanted to bring a girl home and pretend you aren’t a twenty-six year old bachelor.”

“Is that how you romance your guys?” Scott asked, and Stiles didn’t have time for this, not when the thunder was shaking the single-pane windows, wet leaves smacking into them and sticking, rivulets of water sliding down, obscuring his view. “With scented candles?”

“If the next words out of your mouth are about why Ethan dumped me, I’m hanging up.” Stiles scowled. “Seriously, Scott. It’s pouring rain, it’s freezing in here now that there’s no heat, and I’m pretty sure a tree just fell down across the road.”

“Shit,” he heard Scott mutter. And thank God. Finally, he was taking this storm seriously.

It wasn’t like Stiles hadn’t experienced storms like this before, but he usually wasn’t totally alone in an unfamiliar house in an unfamiliar town. He’d only gotten there a few days before, and he’d barely had time to explain to Scott exactly what had happened with Ethan (he still wasn’t completely clear on it himself) let alone figure out if Scott actually had things like flashlights.

Stiles just didn’t like being alone in a totally dark house with branches cracking outside the window. It made him nervous, and he was a normally jumpy person to begin with. Scott, on the other hand, was safe in town at the clinic, doing some emergency surgery on a dog or something. Stiles hadn’t really been listening before.

“Well, if there’s a tree down, I won’t be able to get through either,” Scott said finally, and Stiles forced himself to take a deep breath.

“So do I just sit here in the dark and hope I don’t freeze to death?”

“Why don’t you just go over to Derek’s?” Scott said, and Stiles knew he was a being a bit over-dramatic about the whole freezing to death thing. Surely Scott had extra blankets somewhere, but then again…

“Who’s Derek?” Stiles peered out the window again, but all he could see was the tree’s branches swaying against the deep blue sky as thunder rumbled again in the distance.

“He’s the neighbor. He has a fireplace.”

There was another house on this pitiful dead-end road of Scott’s. Stiles could usually see it from the window, but not tonight, though he hadn’t actually seen anyone go in or out of it in the time he’d been staying with Scott.

“You want me to just knock on some stranger’s door and ask if I can sit by his fireplace all night?”

“Do you have any better options?” Scott asked, and Stiles sighed. Either he could impose himself on a stranger or he could continue to jump every time the thunder roared after a lightening flash. He wasn’t sure how much longer Scott’s windows could last before simply shattering from the noise.

“He’s not gonna shoot me, is he?” Stiles knew what kind of people lived out in the woods. The kinds with rifles tucked behind their front doors.

“No,” Scott assured him. “He’s just a little…”

“A little what?” Stiles asked as Scott trailed off. 

“Shit, I gotta go check on the dogs. They’re making a racket. Probably the storm. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Wait, Scott!” Stiles said, but the call had already ended. Staring helplessly at his phone, Stiles jerked at the crash of thunder above him. He really didn’t want to be alone in this strange dark house.

Peering out the window, he couldn’t see the neighbor’s house, but he knew it was out there. If he squinted, he thought maybe he saw a flicker of light.

There wasn’t anything for it, he decided at length, feeling his way through Scott’s living room to the front door. Pulling open the door, he was faced with a wall of water cascading off the roof onto the porch. The sky rumbled again, ominous, as he stood there.

“Okay, okay,” he told himself firmly, squinting into the rain, towards where he thought Derek’s house was. “You can do this. Just go.”

The door slammed behind him as Stiles sprinted into the rain. His shirt was immediately drenched with water, cold drops sliding down his neck, under his shirt. A dark shadow loomed ahead of him, the other house on the street, gravel driveway filled with puddles that Stiles couldn’t avoid as he splashed towards the porch and hammered a fist against the door.

Derek had better be home after Stiles had just braved the hundred feet of rain and wind, his socks wet and squishy as he stood on the porch, heart hammering as lightening flashed again, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder.

Raising his fist, he banged on the door again, stumbling a little as it was yanked open. Stiles stared up at the dark shadow of a guy, his cell phone in his hand, flashlight on and shining in Stiles’ face. Stiles couldn’t see the guy’s face, but he had a hulking form, filling the doorway.

“Uh, hi,” Stiles said, feeling suddenly awkward as rain soaked his shirt, hair plastered to his face. “You don’t know me. I’m Stiles. I’m staying with Scott.” He pointed vaguely towards Scott’s house. “Anyway, the power’s out and Scott is a disaster and has no candles or flashlights and it’s getting cold and—”

“Get in,” Derek interrupted him, taking a step back, and Stiles had only a momentary hesitation as the thought occurred to him that he couldn’t even see Derek’s face, and Derek was inviting him in, just like people did in horror movies. But it was either that or continue to stand in the pouring rain.

“Okay.” Stiles stepped inside and Derek shut the door behind him, closing out some of the noise of the storm.

“Don’t move,” Derek said, voice low and rough, and oh Jesus, Stiles hoped this wasn’t going to turn out to be some horror movie where the creepy neighbor went and got a saw to chop him up in tiny pieces.

Derek turned, leaving Stiles in the front hall, the only sound the drip of his sleeves onto the floor. It was nearly pitch black, though Stiles could see some sort of glowing at the end of the hall. He jumped as Derek’s form reappeared, striding towards him.

“Don’t drip on the floor,” Derek said, shoving a towel into his hands. Stiles let out a breath, relieved, and dried off his arms and hair, squeezing water out of his shirt.

“Thanks,” he said, gripping the towel tightly and wishing he could see Derek’s face. Derek said nothing in return, nodding down the hall, and Stiles followed.

Scott had been right. Derek did have a fireplace, and it was pleasantly warm as Stiles stepped into the living room, a cheery yellow light flooding over a squishy-looking couch. Derek did have candles, Stiles thought smugly, like a normal person in the Pacific Northwest should have in case of emergency. A few sat on a side table, wax dripping down the sides, but Stiles was much more interested in Derek as he turned around and light finally fell across his face.

Stiles had seen plenty of hot guys in his time on Earth. Had even dated a few. And Derek was no exception. Tall, broad shoulders, a dark scruff across his jawline, ears that stuck out a little in a way Stiles almost found adorable considering how big Derek was.

Derek didn’t seem to be considering Stiles in the same way, a scrutinous eye wandering down Stiles’ face as Derek took a seat in an arm chair by the fire.

Stiles wasn’t usually at a loss for words, and he cast around for something to fill the awkward silence growing between them. 

“Nice house,” he said, glancing around. It was bigger than Scott’s, probably not just a rental since there were pictures up on the walls, Derek with a girl who was probably a couple years younger than him, around Stiles’ age. A girlfriend, he wondered, gazing at the photo.

“I haven’t seen you,” Derek said, ignoring Stiles’ innocuous comment about the house. “How long have you been staying with Scott?”

“Just a couple days,” Stiles said, flashing Derek a smile, nervous for some odd reason. “I kind of just crashed in without warning.”

It wasn’t as if Stiles had had any warning that the minute he got to D.C., Ethan would tell him he thought they needed to take a break, to experience new things. New guys, was what Ethan had meant. New D.C. guys that weren’t Stiles and his stuttering awkwardness.

It wasn’t like Stiles had quit his job, given up his apartment in Berkeley, and moved across the country for Ethan.

Now he was jobless, apartmentless, and boyfriendless. And stuck in a weird dark house with a guy who seemed to be appraising his every movement.

“Do you do that a lot?” Derek asked, thick eyebrows settled deep on his forehead.

“What?” Stiles looked up as lightening lit up the room for a second. This house must have been built better than Scott’s because the noise of the storm seemed to be less, or maybe it was just the comfort of not being alone that made it better.

“Things without warning.”

Stiles paused. “I’m not real big on planning. Every time I try, something usually goes really wrong.”

Stiles had just come to accept that he wasn’t meant to plan out his future. Or maybe he just hung too much on other people. He could have been back in his safe apartment with its dual locks and double-paned windows and annoying neighbor who always had sex too loud, working his eight to five job and not thinking about how broad Derek’s shoulders were and if he was completely ripped under that tee-shirt.

He shouldn’t have been thinking about Derek at all considering he’d just broken up with Ethan a week ago, and they’d dated for eight months before that. But the part that wasn’t sad about Ethan was angry that Ethan had waited so long to do it, waited until Stiles had left California, left his whole life behind. A part of him wanted to get back at Ethan for that. If Ethan wanted to ‘experience new things,’ Stiles sure as hell could too.

And he wasn’t blind. Derek was hot, even if he did appear to be the brooding silent type as they sat in the living room, the fire crackling between them, and Derek said nothing. He didn’t continue the conversation at all, merely crossed his arms and sat back in the chair, like it wasn’t weird having a stranger in his living room.

“So,” Stiles said finally, folding the towel and setting it on the coffee table. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Derek’s forehead creased as he frowned at the question. “Excuse me?”

“Girlfriend?” Stiles repeated, nodding at the photo. “She’s pretty.”

Derek’s brow didn’t unfurrow. “That’s my sister.”

“So no girlfriend?” Stiles asked, watching Derek squint at him.

“I need a drink,” Derek said instead, rising from the chair and disappearing through a doorway.

Slumping back, Stiles sighed. He couldn’t even get a stranger to hit on him. He really had fucked up his life.

He hadn’t said it out loud, not to himself, and definitely not to Scott, but following Ethan had been a mistake. A giant, life-changing, idiotic mistake. He’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind or maybe at the bottom of his stomach, that Ethan hadn’t been the right one. But he’d been right there, and he’d wanted Stiles. Or he had at the time.

Slumped on the couch, Stiles looked up as Derek returned and set two glasses on the coffee table, pouring some brown liquid into each. He didn’t hand Stiles one, but took the other, tossing it back easily.

At length, Stiles sat up and took the glass, swirling it around before gulping it down. It burned his throat and he coughed slightly as he set the glass down.

Derek refilled it without a word, and Stiles glanced at him. Firelight flickered over the planes in Derek’s face, a shadow on his neck, throat bobbing as he swallowed his second glass.

It was still weird, sitting here with Derek, a guy he didn’t know at all, Scott’s neighbor, but the second glass made it better as Stiles drank.

“Do you mind if I take off my socks?” Stiles asked, abrupt, interrupting the silence between them. He could still hear the battering of rain out the window, see the rivulets on the glass. Catching the question in Derek’s arched eyebrow, he continued. “They got all wet from the puddles, and wet socks are gross and uncomfortable and—”

“Just take them off,” Derek interrupted, like he didn’t want to hear what else wet socks were, although Stiles had plenty more adjectives to describe them with.

Stiles allowed himself a smile at Derek’s gruff tone, and he did as he was told, slipping off his shoes and peeling off his squishy socks and laying them on top. He wiggled his toes gratefully and didn’t check to see if Derek was looking at him.

Derek refilled the glasses for the third time instead of commenting on Stiles’ feet.

“Thanks,” Stiles said as Derek set the bottle down, but he wasn’t talking about the alcohol, and Derek seemed to sense it as he glanced up. “For opening the door.”

Derek didn’t reply for a long minute then shoved Stiles’ glass towards him. “Drink.”

Stiles did.

*

The bottle was almost empty and the storm showed no signs of letting up. Stiles had no idea what time it was as his phone had died a long time ago. The fire popped in the grate, but it was getting lower and Derek hadn’t gotten up to put in any more wood for a while.

Stiles lay on his back on the couch, gazing up at Derek’s dark ceiling, hands on his stomach, letting the feeling of alcohol meander through his body, the awkwardness gone with enough to drink.

“He dumped me,” Stiles said with a frown, not craning back to look at Derek on the chair. “Because he wanted to sleep with other people.”

Derek didn’t reply, and by now, Stiles didn’t expect him to.

“I mean, isn’t that a shitty thing to do? I get wanting to fuck other guys, but Jesus, at least tell me before I leave everything behind for you. Right?”

“He sounds like a dick,” Derek said finally, and Stiles sighed.

“Yeah, he kinda was. But still.” There had been times when Ethan was really sweet and nice and fun. And then there had been the times he would just kind of disappear for a few days at a time and not call or text at all. “I mean, I could sleep with other people. I’ve slept with lots of people. What makes him so special?”

Derek said nothing, draining the bottle into their glasses and Stiles dragged his from the table. He didn’t drink, though, tracing the rim with his finger.

“I gave up everything to follow him across the country and now what? I don’t have a job. I don’t have an apartment. I don’t have a boyfriend. All I have is Scott and his creepy rental house that creaks in the middle of the night and the hot water doesn’t really work in the shower and his couch is really lumpy. Not that I should be complaining. It’s either this or go home and stay with my dad and everyone will know what a big failure I am.”

Stiles smacked a hand over his face as he groaned. It had been hard enough to get out of Beacon Hills in the first place. He couldn’t imagine going back now.

Draining his glass, Stiles sighed and glanced back at Derek, who finally looked at ease in his chair, like Stiles hadn’t barged in on his evening and spent the whole night talking about his stupid ex-boyfriend.

“You don’t want to sleep with me, do you?” he asked, almost hopeful, watching Derek’s eyes flash up from the fireplace.

“Stiles,” he said, almost like a warning.

“It’s perfect,” Stiles went on, ignoring Derek, listening to the whiskey flowing through his veins. “We barely know each other. You’re really hot, like off-the-charts gorgeous, and we wouldn’t have to see each other again. Like one of those porn books masquerading as romance, you know, like—”

“I think I should probably get to bed,” Derek interrupted, and Stiles’ hope deflated just as quickly as it had risen. “I’ll, uh, show you the guest room.”

Stiles didn’t bring it up again as Derek stood up and grabbed a dying candle from table. It had been a long shot. Derek probably wasn’t even gay or bi. He’d probably just been humoring Stiles by listening to his problems, tuning him out like most people did.

So Stiles followed Derek up the stairs without a word, his limbs heavy from the alcohol, his brain sloshing around with every step.

Derek opened a door into a dark room and let Stiles go in first, handing him the candle. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, waiting for something more, but all Derek did was nod jerkily and step back. “Night.”

Derek merely grunted in reply, and Stiles couldn’t say he was surprised. This must have been what Scott meant by ‘a little.’

Derek disappeared down the hallway, his flashlight receding, and Stiles shut the door, turning to the made-up bed behind him. Setting the candle on the bedside table, he got under the sheets, leaving his shirt on against the cold as he pulled the covers tight around him.

As he lay next to the flickering candle, he couldn’t help thinking about Ethan and what the hell he was doing with his life and how he was supposed to figure that out.

Sighing, he rolled over finally and blew out the candle, leaving him in darkness, rain pattering against the window and trees creaking in the distance.

*

Stiles woke up to dull grey light filtering in through the open curtains. He reached for his phone instinctively, but the screen remained black. Right. It was dead. And he was in Derek’s house.

Pushing himself up, Stiles took in the room for the first time, the plain blue comforter, an empty dresser on the wall, a bookshelf with only a few books stacked haphazardly on it. There were holes in the wall as if there’d used to be posters or pictures, but the walls were empty now

Stiles reached over to the lamp on the bedside table, trying the switch but it remained off. Apparently the electricity wasn’t back yet.

He swung the covers off, shivering in the cold air, bare feet hitting the wood floor as he stood up. He wondered what time it was and if Derek was up, and if it was going to be as awkward as last night now that they hadn’t downed half a bottle of whiskey.

The hallway was silent as Stiles poked his head out, feeling like he was sneaking around, like he shouldn’t be there. Wandering towards the stairs, Stiles looked around. He hadn’t been able to see any of this last night in the dark, the dark wood on the floor, worn and old like it had been there for years, the walls smooth and empty, broken up only by heavy wood doors that were mostly closed.

The stairs creaked as Stiles stepped down and he grimaced at the noise, but he couldn’t hide upstairs all day. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to hide. Maybe because he’d stupidly propositioned Derek last night and all Derek had done was practically shut him away in another room.

Downstairs, Stiles peered around the living room. The fireplace was filled with light and heat again, wood crackling in the flames. Derek sat in the same chair as last night, a mug of something set on his knee as he gazed into the fire, apparently oblivious to Stiles lingering awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs.

“Do you drink coffee or is that counterproductive to all the talking?” Derek asked, surprising Stiles, who moved into the living room finally. Derek turned to watch him, and Stiles could see his eyes were actually blue now that there was light.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said finally, wanting to say something else as Derek pushed himself out of the chair and disappeared into what Stiles assumed was the kitchen. Derek returned a minute later with a steaming mug of coffee and handed it to Stiles without meeting his eyes. “Please tell me you boiled water over the fire like a real mountain man?”

Derek shot him a skeptical look as he took his seat again. “I have a gas stove.”

“Oh.” Stiles sat down on the couch. “Not as impressive.”

He could have sworn, just for a second, that Derek’s mouth quirked into what normal people might consider a smile, but it was gone just as quickly.

Out the window, it appeared to still be raining, but lightly now, the trees no longer bending like matchsticks. For a moment, Stiles blew on his coffee, unsure what to say. It wasn’t like he really knew Derek at all. He’d just told him practically his whole life story last night.

“So I might have said some things last night,” he started, watching Derek closely for his reaction, but he didn’t react except to stare into the fire. “About Ethan and Scott and you. And you’re probably thinking that I’m really neurotic and weird, and well, I am, but I didn’t mean to, like—”

“Shut up and drink your coffee,” Derek only said, raising his mug to his lips. “Not that you need it.”

Stiles smiled but he didn’t drink his coffee. Instead, he jumped at someone pounding on the front door. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed as he hauled himself up, and Stiles couldn’t help sneaking after him.

“Stiles!” Scott cried as Derek opened the door and Stiles poked his head over Derek’s shoulder. “You’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Stiles asked as Scott stepped inside without waiting for Derek to say anything, though Derek’s frown said everything for him.

“I’ve been calling you,” Scott said, shooting Stiles a look that he didn’t understand.

“My phone’s dead,” Stiles replied, shrugging. “And the power’s out.”

“Right,” Scott said as though he hadn’t thought of that. Scott wasn’t always the brightest bulb. “Well, the tree’s still down across the road but Isaac’s taking care of the clinic today, so you want to go home?”

Stiles glanced at Derek, who hadn’t said anything, arms crossed as he looked between them. He wasn’t sure what there was to say really, so he shrugged.

“Just let me get my shoes.” He left Scott and Derek in the front entry way and grabbed his shoes and socks from the living room. The socks were nice and toasty warm now as he pulled them on and knotted his shoelaces.

Back at the door, Derek hadn’t appeared to move and Scott was swinging his hands slightly, as though casting around for something to say. Stiles saved him, though, stepping up to the door and turning to Derek.

“Thanks for last night,” he said, watching Derek’s eyes settle on him for just a moment, deep and intent. “You know, letting a wet stranger into your house after dark.”

Derek only seemed to nod in reply, and Stiles decided that was probably as much of a ‘you’re welcome’ as he was going to get. So he turned and ushered Scott out the door.

On the porch, the door shut behind them, a soft drizzle of rain wetting his shirt, Stiles allowed himself the fleeting thought that Derek wasn’t so weird.

“Dude,” Scott said as he jumped down the three steps to the ground, mushy underfoot, grass drowned under water. “What the fuck happened?”

“What do you mean?” They passed the downed tree, a huge trunk crashed across the road, Scott’s car parked on the other side in the mud.

“With Derek?”

Stiles frowned at Scott. “Nothing happened. You’re the one who told me to go over there.”

“Well, yeah, but I didn’t think he’d actually let you in,” Scott admitted, and Stiles stared at him, indignant.

“So you just sent me over there so he could slam the door in my face?”

Scott shrugged as they reached his house, the front yard littered with wet leaves and broken tree branches. “Derek’s not the most friendly guy in the world. I’ve lived here almost a year and he rarely talks to me.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Stiles told him, pushing open the front door and stepping inside. The house was just as messy as Stiles had left it in his terror of falling trees and getting struck by lightening. 

“If you hadn’t asked, you would have been stuck here alone,” Scott pointed out. “Better to at least try, right?”

“And if he’d said no?” Stiles asked, flopping down on Scott’s lumpy couch and flicking the lamp on and off. It did nothing.

“But he didn’t say no.” Scott shoved a few coats off the chair and sat down. He paused. “Why didn’t he say no?”

Stiles kicked off his shoes, setting his feet on the coffee table. He honestly had no idea. Derek didn’t seem the type to take in strangers, even in the throes of the storm of the century. “Probably because I looked pathetic, like a drowned rat, dripping all over his precious floors.”

“Pathetic works,” Scott assured him, as if Scott knew anything about being pathetic. He’d always been slightly more popular than Stiles, first-string on the lacrosse team, dated Allison in high school, easily the prettiest girl in school.

“That’s how I get all my guys,” Stiles muttered, sarcastic.

Scott shot him a look, but Stiles didn’t want to talk about it for once.

“When’s the power coming back on?”

Scott seemed to let it go as Stiles got up and moved to the window, staring out at the mess left over from the storm. “I got a text that they’re working on the power lines. Should be back some time today.”

Stiles didn’t reply, tilting his head to the side as Derek emerged from the back of his house carrying a big chainsaw and heading for the tree. As Derek began to cut into the tree, sawdust and wood chips flying around him, Stiles smiled slightly. Maybe storms weren’t so bad after all.

*

The best part of Scott’s job, Stiles decided, as he sat on the floor in the back, was getting to play with kittens. He rolled a tiny ball and two black and white kittens immediately popped into the air as if it was a bomb. Of course, that wasn’t all of Scott’s job, and that was precisely why Stiles hadn’t become a vet, or _vet tech_ , as Scott constantly reminded him. Not a vet. Vets had to go many more years of school.

Unfortunately for Stiles, he could only use kittens as a distraction for so long. The reality of it was that he was twenty-six and unemployed, not to mention technically homeless. Hiding at Scott’s house couldn’t last forever.

Stiles looked up as the door opened and Isaac stepped in. Isaac was the other vet tech at the small clinic nestled along the coastline. He wore his blond hair curly and messy, and there were unspecified stains on his scrubs.

“Time for their shots,” Isaac said, holding up a packet of needles and stooping to Stiles’ level. He scooped up one of the kittens, a hand firmly around its chest as he stuck the needle in easily.

Stiles watched the kitten struggle uselessly until Isaac set it down again and reached for the other. 

“Did you always want to be a vet?” Stiles asked as Isaac uncapped the needle with his teeth.

“Vet tech, and no,” Isaac said, smoothing down the kitten’s fur where the needle had been. “I just knew I liked animals. Didn’t figure it out until I was two years into college.”

“And why’d you move here?” Stiles still hadn’t figured out the appeal of this small coastal town that Scott had moved to after graduation. It seemed a lot like Beacon Hills except that it was much further north and it seemed to rain even more there.

Isaac shrugged, tossing the ball for the kittens. “People are nice here. People didn’t know me here. Plus I can afford a house on the beach here.”

Stiles couldn’t argue with that. His apartment in Berkley had been ridiculously expensive for how small it had been. He couldn’t say he’d loved his job either, working as a data analyst for a cyber-security company. But it had paid the bills.

It probably would have been easy to go back and get his job back, get back his little cubicle and listen to Joy in the next cubicle complaining about how sitting all day gave her bruises. Just the thought of it made his whole body tense.

The move had been supposed to be a new opportunity, a clean break from all the things he hadn’t liked about his life. It turned out those things had just wanted a break from him.

A kitten jumped onto Stiles’ knee, wobbling, digging its sharp claws into his jeans, and Isaac stroked down its back slowly.

“How long do you think you’ll stay with Scott?” he asked, and Stiles didn’t know Isaac well enough to tell what kind of question that was, probing or simply curious.

“That’s a very good question,” he said simply. “One I don’t know the answer to.”

Isaac scratched the kitten’s ear gently and it batted at his finger. “Things get better. Trust me. I know.”

Stiles didn’t ask how Isaac knew that, watching him rise from the floor and toss the needles in the waste bin. He wished he knew that, but at the moment, it felt like he was just standing still while everyone else was creating successful careers and getting married and having kids.

Alone with the kittens again, Stiles sighed, cuddling one to his chest despite its claws digging into his hand, struggling to climb onto his shoulder. Maybe things would get better, but it wouldn’t happen until Stiles figured something out, like what the hell he wanted for his life for one.

*

“It’s probably not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Lydia said, her screen wobbling and Stiles set his elbow on the small round table of the coffee shop to hold his phone steady. He’d chosen a table near the window where he could see the puddles on the road. The cafe wasn’t very busy, just a few people sitting at different tables reading newspapers or typing on laptops.

“How could it get any worse?” Stiles asked, watching Lydia’s mouth twist on the screen, slightly pixelated from the crappy wi-fi connection.

“You could be working at a gas station in Beacon Hills, living at home, with no hopes of finding a guy to date,” she said matter-of-factly, and Stiles could always count on Lydia to tell him the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

“I suppose that would be worse.” He rolled his eyes. He picked at the chocolate croissant on his plate, not really hungry anymore. “But what am I supposed to do?”

Lydia shot him a look that he could read even through the phone. “Stop moping for one. Ethan was not a long-term guy. You know that. He was one of those guys you fuck and then you’re done. You don’t try to move across the country for them.”

Stiles supposed he’d known that, somewhere deep down, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying. Maybe it hadn’t been Ethan he’d been moving for. Ethan had just been an excuse.

“Need a refill?”

Stiles looked up as a woman appeared at his table, holding up the pot of coffee. She smiled down at him, dark hair falling over her shoulder.

“Sure, thanks. Lydia, this is Kira. She owns the place.”

Lydia flashed Kira a smile as Kira refilled his mug. “Seriously, Stiles,” she said, though, “you know what you have to do.”

Stiles waited until Kira had returned to the counter before turning to his screen. “But I don’t know how to do it.”

Stiles had to get his shit together. That was what he needed to do. It was a hell of a lot harder than it sounded, though. There wasn’t some magical solution that would just fix all his problems.

Lydia sighed, flipping her strawberry blond waves over her shoulder. “I’ll let you in a secret, Stiles. None of us know what we’re doing. All those people you think have their lives together, they don’t. They’re just as confused and aimless. They just hide it better.”

“So you’re saying you don’t have your life together?”

Lydia smirked slightly. “I have a job I like and a great apartment, but I don’t know what I’m doing. I just keep moving forward because that’s the only direction there is to go.”

Stiles didn’t reply, distracted as he caught sight of a familiar shape, Derek, striding past the cafe window and down the street. He looked good in his dark leather jacket and boots. He turned the corner and disappeared.

“Stiles?” Lydia asked and Stiles jerked his eyes back to the screen and her knowing eyebrow. “Who just walked by?”

“No one,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I should get back to the clinic. Scott’s supposed to be done soon.”

“Hey,” she said as Stiles went to end the call. “Things are gonna be okay. You’re stubborn that way.”

It was about as reassuring as Lydia got, so he smiled. “Thanks. You should come visit Scott sometime. His couch is really uncomfortable.”

“I’ll consider it,” she said, smiling before the screen went black.

Setting the phone down, Stiles turned back to the window but Derek was long gone. The last thing he needed right now, he told himself as he sipped his coffee, was to fall for some uncommunicative guy in a tiny town where there was nothing to do. The last thing.

*

The fact that he shouldn’t care about Derek didn’t stop him from watching him, though, enjoying the view out Scott’s window one Monday morning about a week after the storm. The sky was cloudy, but it wasn’t raining for once. Scott had left for work an hour ago and Stiles had bummed around the house for a while, flipping through Netflix and finding nothing he wanted to watch. He should have been looking for a job or at least figuring out what job he wanted to do.

Instead, he stood at the window, partially hidden by the curtain, watching Derek wipe the sweat off his brow as he raised his ax and let it swing down on the cored tree he’d cut down last week. It was all so cliche, Stiles thought, watching a hot guy chop wood, wearing only a tight tee-shirt, but he didn’t stop watching.

At length, he left the window and wandered outside, trying to act as casual as possible, as if he hadn’t been watching Derek for the last half hour and wishing he’d just take his shirt off.

“Stocking up?” he asked as he cross Scott and Derek’s shared yard. He wasn’t sure where Scott’s stopped and Derek’s began.

Derek glanced up, a light sheen of sweat on his neck, and Stiles tore his gaze away from it.

“I like to be prepared,” Derek replied, swinging the ax down again and it stuck in the wood. He raised it and smacked the wood against the trunk, splitting it down the middle.

“Well, you’re much more prepared than Scott,” Stiles agreed. 

Derek paused, tossing the wood onto a pile up against the house. “So you’re still here,” he said, and it wasn’t exactly a question.

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, confused but not disappointed when Derek used the hem of his shirt to wipe off his face, reveal a plane of muscles, dark hair trailing under his waistband. Fuck.

“Thought you said I’d never have to see you again,” Derek said, as if oblivious to what he was doing to Stiles. He dropped the hem and shot Stiles a look.

“I said if we slept together, you’d never have to see me again,” Stiles pointed out, smiling slightly. “But we didn’t sleep together. So here I am.”

Derek paused. “Is that all I have to do to get rid of you?”

Stiles couldn’t believe his ears and his eyebrows rose as he stared at Derek, a smile growing on his face. “Are you flirting with me, Derek?”

Stiles definitely wouldn’t turn Derek down if this was real, if Derek wasn’t just being a dick. Teasing him. Derek could tease. Imagine that. Derek had a sense of humor.

Derek’s eyebrows furrowed in response and he grabbed the ax from where it was stuck in the flattened tree trunk. “Have you ever chopped firewood?” he asked instead of answering Stiles’ question, and Stiles wanted him to answer.

“No?” Stiles said, confused when Derek shoved the ax into his hands and pulled him over to the trunk, his hand a little too firm around his arm.

“I think it’s time you learned,” he said and Stiles didn’t complain as Derek set the piece of wood on the trunk.

Derek could tease, was his only thought as Derek showed him what to do. Derek was funny. _Derek_ had flirted with him.

*

“I don’t think I want to do data analysis anymore,” Stiles said, peeling off layers of his chocolate croissant and frowning as Scott seemed to be only half-listening. He kept glancing back at the counter, but there was no one there but Kira who was rearranging the muffins in the display case.

“But it’s so exciting,” Scott said, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“You’re not the sarcastic one in this friendship, remember?”

Scott turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “What do you really want to do, Stiles? You want to go back to San Francisco?”

If Stiles was honest, he had no idea what he wanted. Actually, that wasn’t totally true. He wanted a job he liked, friends he could count on, and a boyfriend who wouldn’t dump him the minute something better came along.

“Maybe,” he said, but he didn’t know.

“You could always stay here,” Scott suggested, glancing at the counter again. “It’s a nice town.”

“Sure, I’ll sleep on your couch forever and watch Derek chop wood out the window.” Actually, that didn’t sound too terrible. Stiles wouldn’t mind watching Derek do physical labor for the rest of his life.

“You could get a job here,” Scott said as though it was obvious. “There are jobs.”

“I’m not good at anything,” Stiles argued. He was only good at data and even then, it had always been a struggle to sit in his office for hours a day. He’d always felt restless there.

“Sure you are,” Scott corrected him, but his whole attention wasn’t on Stiles as Kira came out from around the counter and headed their way. “You’re good at research and spreadsheets and getting into trouble, and sometimes getting out of it.”

“So what? I should be a cop, is that what you’re telling me? My dad would love that.” Stiles’ dad probably would like the idea of Stiles becoming a cop, though he would probably be terrified for him knowing Stiles’ penchant for getting in trouble, as Scott said. Growing up the son of a sheriff had kind of turned Stiles off law enforcement considering how much they got shot at.

Kira joined them at their table, smiling at Scott. “Hey guys,” she greeted them. “How’s everything?”

“It’s great,” Scott said, and Stiles frowned at the heart eyes he was making up at Kira. Oh. He got it now. Why Scott liked this cafe and it wasn’t just because it was down the street from the clinic.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoed, kicking Scott under the table. Scott shot him a glare. “Great.”

Kira beamed brightly at both of them. “So what are you guys up to today?”

“Oh, we’re just trying to find me a new career,” Stiles said easily, as if it was that easy. As if the dread deep in his stomach didn’t get bigger every day, the uncertainty of the future threatening to take him over.

“We’re looking for a new baker,” Kira said, “if you’re interested.”

“You’re a great baker!” Scott said eagerly, and Stiles shook his head.

“That was high school. A long time ago. I barely cook anything now.”

He’d mostly learned to force his dad to eat healthier, something to keep him busy, keep his mind focused away from the constant hum of anxiety he could never quite shake.

“Well, if you know anybody,” Kira said with a shrug. “Let me know.”

“We will,” Scott assured her, smiling long after she disappeared behind the counter.

“Why don’t you just ask her out?” Stiles asked once she was out of earshot.

“Why don’t you just take the job?” Scott asked, and touché.

*

The longer Stiles stayed with Scott, the more worried he became that he’d never figure this out. He’d never figure out what he wanted to do with his life, where he wanted to go, if he simply wanted to become a bum with no job or life to speak of. Or maybe he’d just end up back at his old job, hating life.

So Stiles distracted himself the best way he knew how.

“It’s gonna get creepy soon if you don’t stop stalking him,” Scott said, surprising Stiles as he stood by the window, peering over at Derek’s house. He wasn’t even sure Derek was home.

“It’s not stalking if he’s your neighbor,” Stiles replied, turning from the window. “You’re the one who rented this house.”

“Because it was cheap,” Scott reminded him as he pulled on his shoes. “Not because I knew you’d get a thing for the weird neighbor.”

“I don’t have a _thing_ ,” Stiles argued, although he most definitely did have a thing for Derek’s hard abs and strong hands.

“Yeah,” Scott said skeptically, “you just like staring at his house for the architecture.”

That was one way to put it, Stiles could agree. “It’s not like I’m gonna go make out with him. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. So what’s the harm in looking?”

Scott shrugged as though he didn’t have the energy to argue with Stiles about this today. “Just try not to do anything weird, okay? After you leave, I still have to live next to him, remember?”

After Stiles left. If Stiles ever figured anything out. If Stiles ever got his shit together enough to be considered a responsible adult.

He sighed as Scott pulled on his jacket and opened the front door.

“I should get off for lunch if you wanna meet somewhere in town. I’ll text you.”

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, turning back to the window as the door shut behind Scott. He watched Scott climb into his car, parked next to Stiles’ rickety old jeep, and pull down the gravel drive. Once Scott was gone, his gaze drifted back to Derek’s house. The windows were dark, curtains closed in the upstairs windows. The ax hadn’t moved from where Derek had set it against the house after he’d made Stiles chop what felt like a whole cord of wood. Stiles’ arms had ached for two days afterward.

Derek probably wasn’t even home, Stiles thought, turning back to Scott’s messy living room. It was a small house with only one bedroom and the kitchen and living room all smushed together. The couch wasn’t even a pull-out, but Scott probably hadn’t been expecting his best friend to crash with him for a month when he’d rented the place.

For a brief moment, Stiles considered cleaning, or at least tossing all of Scott’s random pieces of clothing back in his room so they could see the floor again. There was a whole pile of scrubs on the chair.

Outside, the sun was shining for once, cracking through the clouds, dappling the green grass, and Stiles didn’t want to stay inside. He needed to get some fresh air. Maybe clear his head for once. And stop staring at Derek’s house.

So he grabbed his jacket and his shoes, sliding them on and leaving the house. The one good thing about Scott’s house being on a dead-end road was there were trees all around and no one to see Stiles wandering into the woods.

He hadn’t done much exploring since he’d gotten there. The woods in Beacon Hills had always been where he and Scott would go to get away from everything. It was different here, the trees a little closer, a little darker, the babbling of a stream somewhere nearby.

Despite it still being the middle of winter, new plants were starting to push through the ground as Stiles walked, tiny green shoots emerging from the cold, hard ground.

Stiles shivered in the chilly breeze floating through the trees, sticking his hands in his pockets and gazing around at the trees towering over him. It was calm out here, freeing, and Stiles took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He needed to stop focusing on where he wasn’t. He wasn’t in Berkley anymore. He wasn’t sitting behind some desk, getting migraines from staring as a computer for eight hours a day. He wasn’t coming home to no texts from Ethan.

A tree loomed ahead of Stiles, at least three times wider than all the other trees, moss growing on all sides. Stepping up to it, Stiles let his fingers trail over the trunk. This tree had probably been there at least a hundred years, weathering all the storms, and it had survived.

Stiles would survive too.

Turning from the tree, he jumped as Derek appeared behind him, seemingly out of nowhere.

“God,” he said, letting out a breath. “You scared me.”

“This is my property,” Derek said simply, and Stiles pressed a hand against his throat where his heart was hammering still.

“And that gives you the right to sneak up on people and scare the shit out of them?”

Derek shrugged. “Yeah.”

Okay, Stiles could agree with that. “Fine,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Derek, who didn’t blink, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, doing that attractive hulking thing he did. “But I’m not just anyone.”

Derek frowned, not moving as Stiles walked towards him. “You’re not?”

Stiles stopped a foot in front of Derek, wondering if Derek might actually be into him, and this weird flirting thing they were doing wasn’t just an accident.

“I’m your neighbor,” Stiles said. “Temporarily anyway.”

“Doesn’t make it your property.”

Stiles smiled. “Are you gonna call the cops on me?”

To his surprise, Derek rolled his eyes. “Would that stop you?”

Stiles shook his head. “Probably not. I can be pretty stubborn. My dad used to say I didn’t know how to stay out of trouble.”

He suspected Derek could be pretty stubborn too from the way he hadn’t moved at all in the last few minutes, like he was somehow guarding his territory.

“What are you doing out here anyway?” Stiles asked when Derek didn’t reply to that. “Aside from scaring people just trying to enjoy nature.”

“Trying to enjoy nature,” Derek replied shortly, but Stiles smiled at him all the same.

“Does that mean taking off your shirt and running through the woods? ‘Cause I’d like to see that.”

Derek didn’t scowl, but he didn’t smile either. “Do you say everything that goes through your head?”

“No,” Stiles said, taking his hands out of his pockets despite the chill. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts about you that I haven’t told anyone.” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that either, especially when Derek’s forehead creased in response.

For a second, Stiles was sure Derek was going to stride off into the woods and pretend he’d never said that. He could live with that. Stiles could accept that he often said the wrong thing to the wrong person.

What he didn’t expect was for Derek to pull his hands from his pockets, take a step forward, closing the distance between him, and kiss him. Derek’s hands gripped his neck, tilting Stiles’ head up, his tongue sweeping into Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles let him.

It felt like a hallucination, Stiles’ fingers curling into Derek’s shoulder, the other sliding into Derek’s hair, edging closer. The kiss sent shivers to Stiles’ toes, hard and aggressive, Derek’s teeth sinking into Stiles’ bottom lip and sucking as Stiles tried to remember to breathe. 

They stumbled for a second, backwards a step, Derek’s hands tightening on Stiles’ neck, stubble scraping along Stiles’ chin, his mouth hot and wet against Stiles’. Too hot for Stiles to concentrate on anything other than the fact that he had Derek pressed against him, surrounded by trees and birds, that he had Derek’s lips sliding against his, Derek’s tongue skating over his bottom lip, rolling into his mouth, hard and dirty.

All too soon, before Stiles could even open his eyes, Derek pulled back, the warmth gone, leaving Stiles panting for breath.

“I have to go,” Derek said, abrupt, stepping away from Stiles, his fingers leaving indents where they’d been, and even though Stiles opened his mouth, Derek turned and strode away into the woods.

If Stiles couldn’t still feel the tingling of his lips, he might have thought he’d imagined it all. He didn’t know what the fuck had just happened or why Derek had stopped it so abruptly.

As he stood there, a cloud rolled across the sun and Stiles shivered again, glancing up. One thing was for sure about what had just happened. Scott would never believe him.

*

Stiles wasn’t listening to what Scott was saying across the table, poking at his fries, lost in thoughts of Derek’s mouth against his, Derek’s hands sliding down his neck.

“Stiles,” Scott said and Stiles realized both Scott and Isaac were looking at him.

“Yeah?”

Scott shook his head as though he knew Stiles hadn’t been paying attention. He didn’t repeat whatever it had been, though.

Stiles pushed his plate away. “What do you really know about Derek?” he asked, and Scott frowned.

“I thought you were gonna stop this.”

“He’s not here. It’s not stalking.” Stiles gestured around the restaurant, a diner out by the highway where the fries were too greasy but there was an adorable claw machine in the corner that Stiles was itching to try.

“Derek Hale?” Isaac asked through a mouthful of the aforementioned fries.

“You know him?” Stiles would take any info he could get about Derek. Since Derek didn’t seemed inclined to talk about himself.

Isaac shrugged. “Not really. I think his family’s had a house here for a long time. Not sure when he moved here. He keeps to himself, mostly. Rumor around town is the family was independently wealthy, stocks or something.”

Town gossip, that was all there was. Sitting back, Stiles sighed.

“Why? You like him?” Isaac asked with a chuckle, grabbing his drink off the table.

Scott fixed Stiles with an expectant gaze, and Stiles shrugged. 

“He’s hot. That’s all.” And he’d had Derek’s tongue in his mouth already.

“You’ve got your work cut out,” was all Isaac said, reaching for more fries. “I’ve never seen him date anybody.”

“Stiles isn’t going to date him,” Scott said firmly. “Stiles has other things to do than sleep with my neighbor.”

Stiles frowned. “Stiles can make up his own mind,” he said, though he knew exactly why Scott said that. He did have bigger problems than whether or not Derek liked him. But at the moment, Derek was one problem he could potentially solve, and he liked those odds.

*

The only issue to solving the Derek problem was that Stiles would have to talk to Derek in order to do it.

He hadn’t seen Derek in days, not since Derek had kissed him in the woods and run off. And Stiles had been watching. He checked Derek’s house whenever he passed the window. He looked up at every movement beyond the curtains, but it was usually a bird.

Scott said he was becoming fixated, and maybe he was. Maybe Stiles was reading more into this than he should be. But where had Derek disappeared to? Had the kiss been that bad?

He still hadn’t told Scott about the kiss because he didn’t really know what it meant. He wouldn’t be able to figure that out until Derek reappeared.

So Stiles sat resolutely in Scott’s living room, flipping through one of Scott’s old textbooks, bored out of his mind. He was almost glad when his phone rang and he could answer it.

“Hey, Dad,” he greeted his dad, tossing the book aside.

“Hey, kid,” his dad greeted him. “Haven’t heard from you in a while. How are things at Scott’s?”

Stiles grimaced. He supposed he should have called his dad more than just to say things with Ethan were complicated and he was going to stay with Scott for a while. He’d conveniently left out the part where he’d made a mistake. A big mistake.

“Scott’s good,” he said simply.

“Yeah? And how are you doing?”

It was said with that same concerned tone of voice that made Stiles feel like he was sixteen all over again and going through his first break-up. “I’m fine, Dad.”

“Have you found anything yet?”

“No,” Stiles said, and that at least was the truth. “Still figuring things out.”

His dad made an agreeing noise, but Stiles looked up at another noise, a repeated thud in the distance.

“You’ll figure it out,” his dad assured him, and Stiles’ stomach clenched at how much his dad believed in him. “And you can always come home. Your room still smells like cheetos.”

The pounding noise came again and Stiles stood up, moving to the window. He was surprised, as his eyes immediately went to Derek’s house, to see a girl standing on the porch, banging on the door.

“Uh, yeah,” he said quickly, though the thought of staying in his childhood bedroom was even worse than taking over Scott’s living room. “Listen, Dad, I gotta go. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Alright,” his dad agreed. “I love you, Stiles.”

Stiles paused, turning from the window and dropping his head. “I love you too, Dad.”

As he hung up the phone, he sighed. Everyone else seemed to believe he’d be okay, that this constant fear was only temporary.

“Derek!” the girl shouted from outside, and Stiles tucked the phone away. He could deal with his guilt later.

On the porch, he could see the girl more clearly, petite with long brown hair cascading down her back. A beat-up blue car was parked in front of Derek’s house.

“I don’t think he’s home,” Stiles said, crossing the lawn to Derek’s house. The girl turned sharply at his voice, immediately sweeping her gaze over him as though assessing him.

After a second, she let out a frustrated sigh. “He’s probably off wandering around the woods, brooding like usual.” She shook her head, fixing her gaze on Stiles, who felt a little taken-aback by the intensity of her stare. “You’re new. Who are you?”

“I’m Stiles,” he said quickly, as though if he didn’t answer her quickly, she might cut off his head. “My friend rents the house over there.” 

She didn’t reply for a minute, sighing back at the house. “He’s supposed to be here. I lost my key.”

“Oh!” Stiles said, eyes widening as he realized, and the girl frowned at him. “You’re the sister.”

“Cora,” she said slowly, as though Stiles shouldn’t be so excited.

“Right. Yes. I knew you looked familiar. You’re the one in the picture.”

Cora’s expression changed, less suspicious and more curious. “You’ve been inside the house?”

“Yeah, once,” Stiles said. “It was during a storm and yeah, long story.” He paused, watching her cross her arms. He definitely saw the family resemblance. “Do you want to wait for him in Scott’s house? It’s not very nice, but it’s warm at least.”

For a long moment, she didn’t reply, but finally, she jerked her shoulder in what Stiles assumed was agreement.

He led the way back to Scott’s house, letting Cora go in first and glad he’d bothered to clean up a little this morning so at least the chair was clear. Cora sat down without waiting for an invitation, crossing her legs and watching Stiles shove the blanket down to the end of the couch.

“You’re sleeping on the couch?” she asked, blunt, but at least she talked.

“It’s a one-bedroom,” Stiles explained. “And I didn’t expect to be here this long.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Not really sure,” Stiles admitted. “I quit my job to move across the country for my boyfriend who dumped pretty much as soon as I got there. So mostly I’m trying not to freak out about not having a plan.”

“How’s that going?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“As long as I don’t think about the future, it’s fine,” he joked, or tried to, but she didn’t smile. Definitely a Hale. “So did you grow up here?”

Cora shifted in the chair, as though considering her answer. “No. Derek moved us up here after the accident.”

“Accident?”

“Oh, right, you’re new,” she muttered, sighing, like it was a story she’d told a million times. “Most of my family died in a house fire about ten years ago. Derek’s house used to be the vacation home, but he moved here full time about six years ago.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that. He had a hard enough time telling people about his mom. He couldn’t imagine his whole family dying at once.

“Wow,” he could only say, and Cora shrugged, not meeting his eyes, gazing out the window. “So you moved with him?”

“I stayed here in the summers during college,” she said. “It’s almost like home.” She paused, turning to Stiles. “So you were inside the house?”

Stiles didn’t know why it was such a big deal. “Yeah, there was this big storm a few weeks ago and the power went out. So I just knocked?”

She twisted her straight hair around her finger. “And he let you in?”

“Why do you keep saying it like that?”

She dropped the hair and sat back. “What did you talk about?”

She hadn’t answered his question, but Stiles got the feeling she wasn’t going to. 

“Not much.” He shrugged. “It is Derek, after all.”

She smirked at that. “He can be pretty tight-lipped.”

“I asked if he had a girlfriend,” Stiles said, watching Cora for a reaction, but he got none except for a tiny snort.

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t actually answer,” Stiles admitted. “But I took that as a no.”

That and the fact that Derek had kissed him three days ago. That seemed like a pretty clear answer.

Cora’s deep brown eyes rested on him, like she was trying to see into his mind.

He shifted, uneasy. How was it that the whole family could make him feel like this?

The crunch of gravel outside made them both turn their heads. Stiles got up to peer out the front window. Derek’s car had pulled into the driveway and he got out, looking around as if searching for Cora.

“It’s Derek,” he said, and Cora rose immediately, moving to the front door.

She paused before opening it, though, turning to Stiles. “Thanks for the company.”

“Sure, no problem,” Stiles said, and she left. Through the window, he watched her trot down the porch steps and over to Derek.

He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but from Derek’s scowl, he assumed she was berating him for not being there on time. Derek glanced up, though, at Stiles’ window, and Stiles held his breath, not hiding. Derek looked away after a second, turning with Cora and heading into the house.

Stiles stayed at the window for a few more minutes even though he couldn’t see anything. At least he knew Derek was still alive, and if he wasn’t going to figure out what he was doing with his life, he could at least figure out what he was doing with Derek.

*

Cora’s car stayed in the drive for the next few days and Stiles knew Derek was home because he saw him coming and going. But he hadn’t talked to Derek yet, not with Cora there, Cora who seemed to be able to see right through him.

When Stiles had told Scott about his run-in with Cora, Scott had groaned and said, “Please tell me you didn’t pump the sister for information.”

“Not like that,” Stiles had said, insulted. “She seemed surprised he let me in during the storm too.”

“Wonder why,” Scott muttered.

“Probably the same reason as you,” Stiles pointed out. “Because you all think he’s this weird grumpy shut-in.”

“He is a weird, grumpy shut-in.”

“But he’s more than that.” Stiles wasn’t sure what it was, but Derek could be funny. He was gruff but he was nice. And he was a great kisser. Not that Scott knew that.

“You can’t fall in love with an idea, Stiles,” Scott had said simply, and though Stiles resented the idea that he was falling in love with Derek, someone he barely knew, he had to admit Scott had a point. Stiles did have a tendency to fall in love with what could be rather than what was. “Besides, aren’t you supposed to be figuring out what to do?”

That hadn’t made Stiles feel better and was probably why he found himself wandering around the woods after Scott had gone to work.

“You know this is private property.”

Stiles looked up to find Cora leaning against a tree.

“It’d be helpful if there were markers somewhere,” he said. “You know, so people actually knew that.”

“That orange flag not enough for you?” she asked, nodding behind him. 

Stiles could swear that bright orange flag sticking out of the ground hadn’t been there before. He frowned, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry. I’m not all possessive like Derek about property lines.” She paused, and Stiles kicked the ground, uncovering a tiny green sprout. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking,” Stiles admitted. Scott was right, after all. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life sleeping on the couch, playing with kittens at the clinic, drinking too much coffee at the cafe, wondering if Derek was ever going to talk to him again.

“Thinking about the future?” she asked, and Stiles nodded.

“They say people with anxiety live in the future,” he said. “And people with depression live in the past.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

Stiles shrugged. “I read it somewhere.”

“What about people in the present?”

“They’re the lucky ones,” Stiles said, flashing her a smile. “What are _you_ doing out in the woods? Is it a family tradition to sneak up on people?”

She shrugged, flipping her hair over her shoulder, falling onto her crimson hoodie. “Bored. Tired of being inside. I have to get back to work tomorrow, so I have to get going.”

“Did you have a good visit at least?”

She paused for a second. “It was interesting.”

“Interesting. What does that mean?”

Cora pushed off the tree, walking with Stiles back towards the houses. “You might find out,” she said, which didn’t explain anything in Stiles’ opinion. At the house, she paused. “I’m kind of glad you moved in next door.”

“Not moved in,” Stiles corrected her. “Just temporarily.”

“Right, temporarily,” she agreed, patting his shoulder. “It was nice meeting you, Stiles.”

“Yeah, you too,” Stiles said, watching her disappear into the house. He swore he saw Derek in the window for half a second, but when he looked again, there was no one there.

*

Now that Cora was gone, Stiles didn’t have an excuse not to talk to Derek. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to, but given the choice between talking to Derek about the kiss and talking to Scott about why Stiles was still sleeping on his couch, Stiles chose Derek. At least he might get another kiss out of it.

Stiles waited until Scott left for work, waited until the sun had climbed almost directly over the trees before he forced himself to leave Scott’s house and cross the lawn, climbing Derek’s porch. He knew Derek was there because his car was there and Stiles may or may not have been spying on the house all morning.

Knocking on the door, Stiles stepped back to wait. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, but he’d rather ask Derek why he’d kissed him than admit that he still had no idea what he was doing with his life.

When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles knocked again, louder.

It took a few minutes, but Derek yanked open the door finally, looking surly, but it disappeared as he caught sight of Stiles.

“Hi,” Stiles greeted him. “Can I talk to you?”

Derek hesitated for a second, but in the end, he stood back and let Stiles in.

Stiles wandered to the living room, exactly the same as last time he’d been there except there was no fire in the fireplace now.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?” Derek asked from behind him, and Stiles turned, taking a resolved breath.

“Just making sure you’re alive,” Stiles said, his eyes falling on the picture of Derek and Cora on the wall. “I haven’t talked to you since that day in the woods.”

Derek’s mouth twitched. “You’ve seen me.”

“But I haven’t talked to you. And you know how much I like talking.” Stiles couldn’t help his smile, almost nervous.

“I’m aware,” Derek replied, though he didn’t quite smile.

Stiles paused. “So I kind of just wanted to know what the fuck you were thinking when you kissed me.”

Derek blinked, as though he hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected Stiles to come right out and say it. 

Stiles took a step forward. “Because for the last month and a half, I’ve been focusing on the future and how I have no idea what’s going to happen, and that scares the shit out of me. But you kissed me in the present and just for a little while, I want to focus on what’s happening now.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, as if he was about to let him down easy, to explain away the kiss somehow.

“No,” Stiles said sharply, stepping forward. “It’s your turn to shut up.”

Moving in, Stiles kissed Derek, hard, hands on either side of his face, just so neither of them would over-think this.

He could feel Derek resisting, lips not moving, but Stiles pressed closer, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck, chest to chest, and Derek broke finally, hands coming up to Stiles’ back, warm against his shirt, opening his mouth to Stiles.

Derek’s whole body was warm, from his chest to his hands to his lips, and Stiles moaned as Derek got his hands under his shirt, fingers running up his spine. He wasn’t nervous anymore, not with Derek’s hands wrapping around him, not with the way Derek kissed him back, like he needed more of Stiles’ lips.

Derek’s lips were soft, a sharp contrast to the rough texture of his stubble. Nuzzling down Derek’s jaw, Stiles let his tongue soothe over his jawline. He shivered at Derek’s fingers pressed to his hips, the way Derek jerked him closer. 

But that wasn’t all that Stiles wanted. He wanted to get his hands on Derek’s skin, the get his hands under Derek’s shirt and onto those abs he’d seen that day chopping wood. He wanted to get his tongue on them.

Unclenching his fist from where it had been gripping Derek’s hair, he moved down, tugging at the hem of Derek’s shirt. “Up, I want this off,” Stiles murmured into Derek’s mouth, receiving a dizzying kiss in return before Derek pushed him away to peel off the shirt. “Better. Much better.”

Derek didn’t reply, dragging Stiles forward, licking into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip as Stiles let his hands explore Derek’s bare chest. It wasn’t always better than his imagination, but it was this time. Derek was pure muscle, hard and toned, skin hot to the touch, not flinching away as Stiles ran his hands down his stomach, hooking into the waist of his jeans as he pulled away from Derek’s mouth and slid his lips down his throat, pressing hot kisses to the skin.

Stiles dragged his tongue over Derek’s collar bone, letting his teeth graze the skin, and he felt more than heard Derek’s intake of breath. Taking his time, Stiles moved down, licking over Derek’s nipple, sucking gently, glancing up to see Derek watching him, eyes dark.

Shit, that was hot, Stiles found himself thinking, blood rushing to his cock, Derek watching him so intently. Carefully, he slid to his knees, tracing each of Derek’s abs with his tongue, letting his hand slide up Derek’s thigh to cup his growing erection under his jeans. He squeezed carefully, listening for a change in breath, but Derek was very controlled. Too controlled.

Stiles bit down on the where the V of Derek’s hips disappeared under the waistband, and for that, he got sharp breath, a hand moving to the back of his head.

His fingers shaking a little, too excited, too eager, Stiles reached for the button to Derek’s jeans, slipping it open and sliding down the zipper. He was already hard just from the prospect of sucking Derek’s cock, of finally getting more than a skeptical glance thrown at him. The look in Derek’s eyes was far from skeptical when Stiles glanced up, tugging the jeans down.

He saw Derek swallow, tongue darting out to lick his lips, chest rising and falling quicker. Maybe he didn’t say it, but Stiles knew he wanted it.

Derek was bigger than Stiles had expected, wider, and Stiles’ own dick throbbed against his jeans. He wanted that inside him, but for now, he was ready to make Derek come so hard he saw stars. Moving in, he went slowly, licking up the underside, taking his time sucking on the tip until Derek’s cock was leaking, salty and tart on Stiles’ tongue. 

Stiles continued his exploration of Derek’s prick, tracing the ridges with his tongue, gaging the heaviness against his lips as he moved in slowly, sucking further and further until he had almost the whole thing in his mouth. If there was one thing Stiles was good at, it was this.

Derek’s fingers carded through Stiles’ hair, pausing occasionally to grip as he let out a breath. He didn’t make much noise except the occasional exhale, a soft hum of approval as Stiles moved in, sucked harder, lavished his cock with his tongue until it was slick with spit, hot and heavy.

Stiles looked up, at Derek’s face, a light flush along his collarbone, giving away how turned on he was, as if the hard cock in Stiles’ mouth wasn’t enough of an indication. Derek’s mouth was open, just slightly, and he sucked in a breath as Stiles wrapped his hand around the base of Derek’s prick and squeezed.

The blood in Stiles’ dick throbbed as he moved faster, bobbing back and forth, taking the time to mouth down the outside of Derek’s cock, pushing it up, sucking on the sensitive skin of his balls, rolling his tongue over them, jerking Derek off with his hand.

Derek made a noise that might have been Stiles’ name, but everything felt muffled, heat rushing through Stiles’ body as he moved back to Derek’s prick, sliding his tongue over the tip, moving in all the way, feeling Derek’s hand tighten in his hair, his body stiffen.

Derek came in Stiles’ mouth, not quite unexpected, hot and heavy, and Stiles pulled away, using his hand to stroke Derek through his orgasm, dragging his teeth up Derek’s inner thigh instead.

“Fuck,” Derek said, more a breath than anything, and Stiles sat back on his knees for a moment, wiping at his mouth, trying to ignore the throb in his dick, how hard he was. “Couch.”

Stiles looked up, confused, and Derek pulled him up and shoved him onto the couch. Stiles wasn’t complaining when Derek sat down next to him, pulling Stiles’ jeans open and pushing a hand underneath.

“Oh, okay,” Stiles agreed to the unspoken question, lifting his hips off the couch as Derek’s hand wrapped around him, tight and hot on his skin. “Fuck, Derek, it’s too—too—”

It was too dry, not slick enough. He groaned as Derek pulled his hand away, watching Derek slide his hand along Stiles’, the one still wet with come from Derek, and it should have been gross, but Stiles could only bite his lip as Derek came back, jerking him off, slicker now, wetter, hotter.

Stiles closed his eyes as Derek’s hand squeezed around him, tight, blood thrumming through his veins. This was perfect. This was right now. This wasn’t worries about the future. He felt Derek’s face close to his, not quite touching, but Derek’s breath fluttered over his neck, and Stiles shivered.

Opening his eyes, he dragged Derek’s mouth to his, moaning as something deep inside him clenched, too hot, rolling over him, exploding in his body as he came in Derek’s hand.

He kissed Derek hard as he came, hips jerking up, into Derek’s grip, pulling away to catch his breath a minute later, panting against Derek’s lips.

“Jesus,” he breathed, opening his eyes to look at Derek. 

Derek pulled his hand out of Stiles jeans, rising to Stiles’ face, brushing over the moles on his cheek, too soft considering what they’d just done.

Stiles smiled at Derek, leaning into him. That was exactly what he’d meant. For a minute, he hadn’t been thinking about all his problems. He’d just been thinking about Derek.

“So do you think we could do that again sometime?” Stiles asked, searching the way Derek looked away.

“Stiles,” he said, but Stiles shook his head.

“Derek,” he said in the same tone, leaning into his space, scratching his fingers over Derek’s scruff. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop thinking it.”

Derek shot him an unimpressed look and it made Stiles happier than he cared to admit. After a second, Derek seemed to huff and Stiles smiled. He didn’t know what was making Derek hesitate, what reason he had for keeping Stiles at arms length, but Stiles had always been persistent when he wanted something, and right now, he wanted to not think about the future, and Derek was a perfect distraction.

*

“Oh my God, you totally fucked him, didn’t you?”

Stiles looked around quickly in case anyone in the cafe was listening in, the volume on his phone entirely too high as Lydia announced it to the whole world.

“Lydia, I’m in a public place!”

“Well then, you shouldn’t have Facetimed me, should you?” she said with a quirk to her eyebrow. Stiles was beginning to regret telling her anything at all.

He’d had to tell somebody, though, and Lydia, being far away in San Francisco, was obviously the best choice. She could only chide him on the phone rather than in person.

“Scott’s gonna be here any minute,” he said, peering out the window as though Scott might just appear there.

“So? What does that matter?” she asked, lifting a coffee cup to her lips. When Stiles made a face in return, she paused. “Wait, you haven’t told him? Stiles!”

“It’s more complicated than just telling him,” Stiles said even though it wasn’t. He just didn’t want to face Scott’s weird judgment of Derek or his reminders of what Stiles is supposed to be doing while crashing on his couch.

“He’s your best friend,” Lydia pointed out, as if Stiles could forget. “Not to mention he has to live next to Derek after this.”

“Yeah, and I’m just his loser friend sleeping on his couch because I don’t have a job or a purpose in life.”

“Is that what this is?” Lydia asked, leaning into the screen, as though she could read him through the phone. “You’re feeling bad about yourself and you don’t want Scott to pity you?”

Lydia could always get straight to the heart of the problem, but he frowned anyway. 

“No. Scott just wouldn’t understand the appeal of Derek. He’s straight.”

“Straight but not blind,” Lydia reminded him, even though she’d never seen Derek. Stiles suspected his description of Derek as a muscle-bound grizzly mountain man with deep blue eyes and broad shoulders was enough to convey how good-looking Derek was.

The door jingled as it opened and Scott stepped inside. Stiles sat up straighter, a momentary shot of nerves running through him as though he was keeping some kind of big secret.

“Scott’s here. I have to go,” he told Lydia, who frowned at him.

“You’re gonna have to tell him, Stiles.”

“I will, I will,” he assured her, but as he ended the call and Scott sat down, he had no intention of doing so.

“What’s up?” Scott asked as Stiles set the phone face down on the table.

“Nothing. Lydia says hi.”

Lydia was right, of course. Stiles wasn’t telling Scott because Scott didn’t need to know how lost he really was. Scott actually had his life together, aside from the fact that he was obviously smitten with Kira and too chicken shit to say something. And Stiles didn’t even know what he was going to do for the rest of the afternoon.

Kira came over to their table, smiling at Scott brightly. “You want coffee?”

“Yeah, okay,” Scott said eagerly. “You make the best coffee, Kira.”

Kira laughed, blushing slightly, and Stiles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes at Scott. How long had this flirting been going on before Stiles got here? How much longer would it go on for?

“I’ll accept that compliment as long as you don’t give it to my scones. I’d know you were lying then.”

“No luck finding someone?” Scott asked, shooting a look at Stiles, who didn’t justify that with a reaction.

Stiles’ baking skills topped out at muffins these days. He wasn’t anywhere near professional and it wouldn’t be fair to inflict his baking on the good people of this town.

Besides, baking wasn’t a _real_ job, that little voice in the back of his mind told him. A real job involved computers and cubicles and watching the clock hands tick agonizingly slowly towards the five. That was the kind of job he needed to get. He just couldn’t bring himself to look.

“Not yet,” she said with a sigh. “Most people don’t want to move here, and the ones who live here want to get out.”

It sounded like Beacon Hills, but Beacon Hills hadn’t had guys like Derek lurking around the woods.

“Well, I’ll take a scone,” Scott said, and Kira shook her head with a smile.

“No, really, you don’t want one. How about I bring you guys muffins instead?”

“Sure,” Scott agreed, and she headed back to the counter. Stiles raised his eyebrows as Scott turned back to him. “What?”

Stiles shook his head. If Scott wouldn’t admit he had a crush on Kira, he didn’t have to admit anything about Derek, so he said nothing and let Scott go back to watching Kira at the counter while he gazed out the window at the passersby instead.

*

Stiles had yet to see Derek’s bedroom, but he found he liked the couch just as much. He didn’t have to think about the future as his knees sunk into the cushions on either side of Derek’s hips. He didn’t have to think about the fact that it had been almost two months since the Ethan debacle and he hadn’t made any progress to moving his life forward as his hands pressed to the worn leather behind Derek’s shoulders.

Stiles’ shirt and pants were somewhere on the floor with Derek’s, skin too hot as Derek sucked a red mark into his collar bone, his warm fingers splayed over Stiles’ lower back as Stiles reached for Derek’s cock to guide it inside him.

“God, your mouth is so fucking amazing,” Stiles breathed, gritting his teeth at the first press of Derek inside of him, tight and full. He wanted to ride Derek, to bring him off with just his hips, feel Derek come inside him. “I need you inside me, Derek, fuck, _come on_.”

He knew he was being demanding, hand moving to Derek’s shoulder, gripping tight as Derek pushed up, once, forceful, a shock of pleasure darting up his spine. Groaning, he pulled Derek’s mouth from the mark he was so intent on leaving, kissing Derek hard, bruising as they moved together, breath catching in Stiles’ throat at the pressure of Derek’s prick inside him, thick and hot.

Derek fucked like he knew what he was doing, like he knew exactly how to angle his hips, to let Stiles slip down and grind against him, cock leaking against his stomach. He kept his hands on Stiles’ hips as he thrust in, deep and lingering in a way that made Stiles want to just stay there forever, stay in that moment hovering between coming and not, digging his fingers into the back of Derek’s neck and panting against his lips.

“Oh, fuck, yeah, right there,” Stiles breathed, burying his face in Derek’s neck as he pushed his hips down and Derek moved up, meeting in a rush of heat.

Derek smelled like trees somehow, warm and musky, and Stiles let his lips graze down his jaw, pressing to the soft spot under Derek’s ear, biting back a moan as Derek fucked him, hips slowing down, moving more intently, rolling up, pushing his cock inside Stiles as Stiles cursed out loud and closed his eyes.

“Derek,” he said, panting for breath, biting at his stubble, feeling Derek turn towards his mouth, capturing his lips with a rough exhale. “Derek, I’m gonna, I can’t—”

Stiles needed more than just the friction of his prick pressed to Derek’s stomach, trapped between them, not quite there. He didn’t wait for Derek to move, pulling Derek’s wrist from his hip and down to his cock, moaning his encouragement as Derek’s hand wrapped around him.

“Shit, I’m close,” he murmured, lifting his hips up as Derek slid inside him, hand rough around his dick, stroking him quickly, bringing him off.

He wasn’t going to last very long like this, with Derek fucking him so hard he felt lightheaded, blood leaving his brain for his prick, hot and throbbing under Derek’s grip. He wasn’t going to last long with Derek’s cock inside him, pressing to that spot that made him forget everything, his body going loose, melting for a second before he came, before he leaned into Derek, fingers trailing over Derek’s neck, the kiss he pressed to Derek’s lips barely more than a brush of lips as his whole body shuddered and he couldn’t control the words spilling from his mouth.

Derek said nothing, eyes resting intently on Stiles’ face when he came, mouth open slightly, hand working Stiles’ cock until Stiles had to gasp for breath and sigh against Derek’s cheek.

“Did you come?” Stiles asked, voice rough, lifting his head to catch Derek’s gaze.

“Almost,” Derek grunted, like talking was too much work, and Stiles smiled, lifting his hips a little, pushing down against Derek’s prick.

“So come,” Stiles murmured against Derek’s mouth, tracing his lower lip with his tongue, feeling Derek’s puffed out breaths as he thrust into Stiles’ ass, less gentle, needing to get off now, like Stiles had.

Derek didn’t say anything as he came a minute later, hips stiffening, and Stiles could feel his dick twitching inside him. He liked this, liked watching Derek bite back whatever he might been thinking as he came. Stiles supposed he talked enough during sex for both of them.

Derek slumped back against the couch with a huffed out breath and Stiles didn’t leave his lap, things still sticky and hot between them.

“You know what I like about you?” Stiles said after a minute as their breathing returned to normal and Derek didn’t shove him off. “Your ears.”

Derek frowned. “My ears?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, brushing his fingers over the shell of his ear. “They kind of stick out a little.” Derek glared this time, and Stiles laughed. “They’re cute.”

“All the adjectives you surely know and you choose cute?” Derek asked, as though not impressed by Stiles’ word choice.

“I have plenty of adjectives for the rest of your body if you’d like to hear them,” Stiles offered.

“I’m sure I will eventually.”

“But I don’t just like you for your body,” Stiles said, and Derek shot him a disbelieving look. Stiles was a little insulted. He wasn’t that shallow. “For one, you’re convenient, being the neighbor and all. For another, you always seem like you want to kill me a little bit. I find that very attractive.” He smiled at Derek’s unimpressed look. “Clearly, your family is important to you, which I like. And I think, beneath all that stern silence, you do have a sense of humor and you can smile.”

Derek started to frown but seemed to think better of it. “That’s a lot of assumptions.”

Stiles shrugged. “I like my fantasy versions of people. They’re so much better than the real thing.”

“Is that why you moved across the country for a guy?”

Stiles’ shoulders dropped at the question. Moving finally, he swung off Derek’s lap and onto the couch, grabbing his boxers off the floor and pulling them on.

“Yeah, and look what that got me.”

Derek didn’t reply for a minute. “It got you here.”

Stiles glanced back, searching Derek’s face for a minute, but Derek didn’t give anything away. If Stiles wanted to read into it, he might have thought that Derek was saying that he liked Stiles.

“So what’s the reality then?” he asked, watching Derek pull on his underwear. “What’s the reality of Derek Hale?”

Derek’s mouth twitched. “The reality of Derek Hale?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, perching on his knees, arm on the back of the couch behind Derek’s head. “Can you smile?”

“Yes,” Derek said, but his expression didn’t change.

“You’re not exactly convincing,” Stiles told him, smoothing his fingers over the hairs at the back of Derek’s neck.

“What’s there to smile about?” Derek asked, tilting his head to look at Stiles.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, shrugging. “It’s sunny out for once. You just had your cock up my ass. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

Derek seemed to pause, but Stiles could swear he was thinking about smiling, if only because Stiles was an idiot.

“It’s just sex.”

“No,” Stiles corrected him, setting his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Just sex is what straight married people have on a weekly basis. That was much better, and we’re going to have a lot more of it.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but there it was, the corners of his mouth lifting upward, and Stiles felt an overwhelming gush of happiness at the sight. Derek did like him, no matter how much he didn’t say it.

Grinning, Stiles didn’t point out the smile, knowing it would probably disappear if he did.

“You want me to give you a blow job?” Stiles asked instead, catching Derek’s scoff.

“Stiles,” he said in that tone he always seemed to use, as if trying to warn Stiles of something, but Stiles had no idea what.

“Is that a no?”

Derek didn’t respond for a moment, like he actually had to consider his answer. Stiles rolled his eyes and climbed back into Derek’s lap.

“Derek, is that a no?” he asked again, dropping his hands to Derek’s waist, spreading his palms over Derek’s abs. 

“No,” Derek said finally, lifting his face to Stiles. “It’s not a no.”

Stiles smiled as Derek kissed him, closing his eyes and relaxing as Derek’s hands slid to his thighs. For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like he was on the edge of a breakdown, and with Derek underneath him, he liked it that way.

*

Scott tossed Stiles a paper plate as he rounded the couch and flopped down, reaching for the remote. Stiles flipped open the pizza box and chose a greasy slice.

“Orange is the New Black or more Queer Eye?” Scott asked, turning on Netflix and scrolling through the options.

“Naked women in a prison or gay guys making the world better,” Stiles leveled, ignoring Scott’s look.

“You always cry at Queer Eye,” he pointed out and Stiles scoffed.

“So do you, you big softie.”

“I do not,” Scott argued. “That wasn’t crying. That was salsa in my eye.”

Stiles smirked. “Sure.”

In the end, though, Scott switched on Queer Eye because Stiles knew he secretly loved the happy endings too.

“I should nominate you for this show,” Stiles said, glancing around at the messy living room.

Scott looked up, a piece of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Why? I already have you.”

“If you think I’m fashionable, you’re severely mistaken,” Stiles said, plucking at his flannel shirt.

“But you could be like Antoni,” Scott said. “Teach me how to make stuff.”

Stiles ignored him, reaching for the beer on the table. “If you got on the show, you could get your tear-jerking happy ending with Kira.”

“And maybe you’d take that job,” Scott said instead of arguing the Kira point.

“When are you gonna let that go?” Stiles asked, looking away, out the window. It was dark already, and he couldn’t see Derek’s house from here, but he knew Derek was probably there, doing whatever it was he did after dark. Stiles had never seen a TV anywhere.

“When you tell me why you don’t want it,” Scott replied simply.

“Because it’s not a real job, Scott,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “Baking isn’t a real job. It’s something you do for fun. Something you do so you don’t have a panic attack every time you think about your mom.”

He didn’t meet Scott’s eyes, knowing Scott was watching him, knowing Scott was trying to think what to say, but there was nothing to say. There was never anything to say.

“What’s a ‘real’ job then?” Scott asked finally, pausing the TV.

Stiles frowned at his pizza. “A real job has an office and a computer and regular hours.”

“That sounds shitty,” Scott said matter-of-factly. “Why would you ever want a job like that? Dude, you can’t even sit still for more than half an hour.”

“That’s what adults do, Scott.”

Scott made a face. “If you want to be unhappy for the rest of your life, then by all means, move back to Berkley and work in a cubicle. Jesus, even going back to Beacon Hills and becoming a cop would be better than that.”

Stiles didn’t respond to that, too annoyed at how little Scott thought of his career, or former career. Whatever. He’d had a good job. Had it been the best job ever? No. But whose was? Well, Scott did get to play with animals all day. And give them shots and get bitten and put them down. No job was perfect.

“Not all of us know exactly what we want to do,” he said finally, staring at the paused image of some messy straight guy on the screen.

“Stiles,” Scott said in that sad tone, that tone that Stiles hated. “I want you to figure it out, okay? I’m not trying to kick you out. I like having you here. I’ve missed having you around.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” Stiles admitted, setting his plate down and turning to Scott. He still hadn’t told Scott about Derek, and he wasn’t really sure why. Scott might grimace at the thought of it, but he’d get over it.

Stiles wasn’t ashamed of it. He was never ashamed of sex, and he usually told everyone when he was having it. But Derek was a part of this little town’s world that Stiles was only visiting. What would happen when he left? If he ever left.

He didn’t have to leave.

Stiles shook away the thought. He wasn’t going to stay here forever. He had to get a real job and move on, move forward, with his life eventually. And sleeping with Derek didn’t change that fact.

So Stiles didn’t tell Scott. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, right? What Stiles was doing with Derek.

Scott sighed at Stiles. “You don’t have to know what to do,” he said simply. “There’s no rule that says you have to have things figured out.”

“I just don’t function well without a plan,” Stiles pointed out, and Scott smiled.

“I remember your plans in high school. How many of them worked out?”

“A couple,” Stiles insisted. “I got Lydia to go to Homecoming with me that one time.”

Scott paused, and Stiles knew he was remembering that fateful night when Stiles had accidentally spilled punch all over her dress and his car had broken down on the way home, leaving them stranded for two hours until his dad sent a cruiser to pick them up and take them home.

“I’m smarter now,” Stiles said before Scott could point out much of a disaster that had been.

“Right,” Scott agreed. “You’re smarter now.”

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, but Scott at least seemed satisfied, turning back to the TV and unpausing the show.

Stiles certainly didn’t feel any smarter as he sunk into the couch and ate his pizza.

*

Despite the impending sense of urgency his anxiety seemed determined to shower him with every day, Stiles had found something that made the days better. It wasn’t the usual routine of meeting Scott for lunch or coffee at the cafe and watching Scott stutter over his words to Kira, in a way that should have been embarrassing, but it was more endearing than anything. It wasn’t the break in the clouds as spring crept around the corner, bathing Scott’s house in sunlight in the mornings. It wasn’t even that Stiles had finally managed to organize Scott’s living room into an actual livable state.

It was that Derek simply stepped aside when Stiles knocked on his door now. That Derek let Stiles jump him before they even got to the stairs, stumbled up the stairs and down the hall, bumping into walls and door jambs. That Derek took his time exploring Stiles’ body the first time he got him in a bed, on a vertical surface with Stiles’ hands pinned over his head.

It was that Derek knew just where to touch Stiles to make him moan, arch into him. It was Derek’s tongue dragging down his stomach, Derek’s mouth sucking a bruise into his inner thigh as Stiles babbled all sorts of terrible things about what he’d like Derek’s mouth to do.

It was the way Derek pressed inside him, deep and long, rocking their hips together, breaths panting together in the dimly-lit bedroom. It was Derek catching Stiles’ moan in a staggering kiss, stubble leaving a delicious burn against Stiles’ jaw. Derek’s hands pressing Stiles to the bed, stopping him from fucking himself on Derek’s cock. Derek watching Stiles come, eyes dark and intent, while Stiles cursed the heat coursing through his body, cursed Derek for keeping him still, forcing him to tense up against the pleasure crashing over him, unable to make it go faster.

It was Derek lying down next to him, hands on his stomach, not moving away when Stiles curled into him and mouthed along his neck, perfectly sated, not worrying about anything for a minute.

“There’s nothing in your bedroom,” Stiles said after a minute. He hadn’t gotten much of a glance at it as Derek had shoved him through the door and onto the bed, but now, he could see it was painted a deep navy blue, a chair in the corner with a shirt tossed over it, but otherwise fairly empty. The window overlooked the trees in the back, the tiny porch behind Scott’s house.

“Interior decorating isn’t high on the priority list,” Derek replied, tilting his head to Stiles as Stiles traced the line of his collar bone with his fingers.

“So what do you do all day? Lurk in the woods?”

“I work,” Derek said, like it should have been obvious, but Stiles had never even considered that Derek had a job. Derek was just this sort of really hot guy who wandered around the property and chopped wood with an ax. Like some sort of really good-looking cryptid.

“You have a job?” Stiles asked, probably too surprised, propping himself up onto his elbow so he could gaze down at Derek. “I heard your family was, like, rich or something.”

“There’s money. Insurance money.”

“So where do you work?” Stiles was too curious to let this go. “And why do you work if you don’t have to?”

Derek arched an eyebrow at Stiles as if he should already know the answer. “Aren’t you bored out of your mind not working?”

He had a point. Stiles had already organized the entirety of Scott’s house, twice. He’d found things he remembered from high school, which just showed how often Scott got rid of things.

“Okay, yeah,” Stiles admitted.

Derek paused. “Are you looking?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Stiles asked, joking, but it wasn’t really a joke. He should have been looking. He should have been scouring the internet, putting out desperate pleas on LinkedIn, calling everyone he’d known in college to see if they could hook him up. But he was putting it off.

Instead, he was lying here with Derek, stroking over the dark hair on his chest, wishing he could just stay in here forever and never face the real world.

Derek looked away instead of answering Stiles’ question, and Stiles didn’t know what that meant. If he got a job, he’d have to leave this tiny little town with its cafe owners who knew everyone by name, have to leave his best friend again, have to leave Derek.

The thought came unbidden, unexpected, that he didn’t want to leave Derek. Derek was one of the few things that made this bearable, the unknown future. Derek and Scott, and he’d always have Scott no matter where he went. But he wouldn’t have Derek.

“What was that?” he asked as his heart rose in his throat at the realization that he actually liked Derek, actually liked him more than as just a distraction.

“What?” Derek asked, looking back at him, and Stiles frowned. 

“Why’d you look away when I asked if you’re trying to get rid of me?”

Derek’s tongue darted over his bottom lip, and he seemed to purposefully hold Stiles’ eyes this time. “You think too much, Stiles.”

Stiles knew that. He’d known that his whole life. “I think you don’t want to answer me.”

Derek paused for a minute, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “I’m not trying to get rid of you.”

Stiles wasn’t completely convinced, but he leaned over Derek and tilted his head to the side. “So you like me.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, eyes narrowing, and Stiles held his ground.

“Derek,” he said just the same.

“You annoy me,” Derek said, but Stiles caught his smile as Derek closed the distance between him for a kiss.

It was enough for Stiles, and that might have been the problem as Derek hauled Stiles on top of him a minute later. Enough was usually too much.

*

“You okay?” Scott waved a hand in front of Stiles’ face, jerking Stiles out of his stupor of staring out the clinic window at the drizzly mist gathering in puddles in the parking lot. Scott had a bandage wrapped around his wrist, and Stiles suspected it had something to do with the shivering chihuahua being carried out the door by its cooing owner.

Stiles wasn’t sure if okay was the word he would use. He’d spent the whole morning thinking about Derek, and normally, that wouldn’t be a bad thing. But he hadn’t been thinking about Derek’s abs or the roughness of his hands. He’d been thinking about the way Derek rolled his eyes whenever Stiles said something really stupid, how Derek watched him sometimes, like just looking at Stiles was enough to satisfy him.

He’d been thinking about how maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to stay here, if meant getting to keep seeing Derek.

That was the problem. Stiles barely knew Derek, but here he was considering staying in this tiny town because of him. Hadn’t that been the exact reason he’d followed Ethan to D.C.?

The thought freaked him out more than he’d expected, and as he took in Scott’s concerned expression, he knew he had to tell him.

He sighed. “I have to tell you something, and you’re not gonna like it. But please just don’t freak out, okay?”

“Way to preface that,” Scott said, looking even more worried now as he took the other chair behind the desk

Stiles snapped a dog treat in half, brushing the crumbs off the counter as he tried to figure out how to say this in a way that didn’t make him look like a complete idiot. He wasn’t sure that was possible. Scott had known him practically his whole life.

“I’ve been sleeping with Derek,” he said, watching Scott’s eyes widen almost comically.

Scott shook his head after a minute and closed his gaping mouth. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Except, yeah, I am surprised. Derek doesn’t talk to anyone!”

“He talks to me.” Stiles shrugged. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that he was about to repeat the same dumb mistake twice. Someone had to stop him. “But that’s not the problem.”

“Of course there’s a problem,” Scott said, shaking his head. “There’s always a problem. You can’t just sleep with the neighbor. There’s gotta be a problem.”

Stiles frowned at Scott’s reaction, as though his predicament was to be expected somehow. “The problem is I like him.”

For a second, Scott didn’t respond, mouth twitching. “Is that it?”

“Yeah!” Stiles said, tossing the dog treat back in the bowl, wiping his hands off, frustrated that Scott didn’t get it. “I like this guy who I barely know. I’ve seen him smile a total of two times, and I’ve seen him naked a lot more than that. How can I like someone who doesn’t even act like he likes me? How can I like someone who spends most of the time we’re together rolling his eyes at me?”

“I do that,” Scott admitted, and Stiles wasn’t impressed by that addition.

“I can’t want to stay here for someone who can’t even say what he thinks.”

Scott looked up sharply. “Wait, you want to stay here for Derek?”

“Yes, you see the problem now?” Stiles demanded, raking a hand through his hair. It was Ethan all over again except worse because he’d only known Derek a few months. He had to do something about this pattern he was falling into, falling for guys and doing stupid things for them that only ended up ruining his life.

“Not exactly,” Scott said, frowning now.

“I left everything for Ethan, a guy who didn’t call for days and spent most of his free time working out. I have terrible taste in men! And I do stupid things for them. I can’t do it again.”

“So what are you gonna do?”

Stiles gazed out the window for a minute. He’d always known what he would have to do. He’d just put it off, put it off so long that he’d grown to like this town, grown to like Scott’s gruff neighbor and look forward to seeing him, grown to like watching Scott and Kira fumble over their mutual crushes.

“What I was supposed to do in the first place,” he said, ignoring the way his stomach sank at the thought. “Find a job and move on with my life.”

“Moving on doesn’t necessarily mean moving away,” Scott said, and Stiles shook his head.

“I’m not gonna stay here for some guy, no matter how hot he is. I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”

Scott didn’t reply, fingering his bandage, and Stiles figured there wasn’t anything to say for once. He was going to be an adult about this for once, stop whining and get a job like he should have done months ago. And if that meant leaving Derek here, he would do it. He just hated the pit deep in his stomach that seemed to form as he made his decision.

*

Stiles was nervous in a way he’d never been with Derek before. He was nervous, hesitant as Derek lips slid down his neck, trying not to think about what he’d come over here to do. Derek hadn’t even asked what he was doing there, simply let him into the house and crowded him up against the front door.

Between Derek’s mouth on his and the warm press of Derek’s body, Stiles had forgotten everything he’d been about to say.

He was weak, he decided, hands fisting Derek’s hair, burying his face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly as Derek got his hands under Stiles’ shirt.

He was weak and pathetic, and _God_ , he was going to miss this.

He hated to do it, pushing at Derek’s shoulders, unsurprised when Derek pulled back immediately. If there was one thing Derek knew, it was boundaries. “Derek, wait,” he said, drawing in a breath as all the rational thought drained from his brain.

“What?” Derek asked finally when Stiles just stared at him, studying the way his eyebrows dropped suspiciously.

“I need to talk to you,” Stiles said, reluctantly brushing Derek’s hands from his hips and stepping around him to the living room.

Derek followed, slightly miffed. “Is that different than usual?”

Stiles had never really studied the photos on the wall aside from the one of Cora, but there were plenty more there, Derek with Cora and another girl around his age, Derek and what looked like a whole family. He wondered if they had all died in the fire. He’d never really asked.

“Stiles,” Derek said when Stiles gazed at the photos, putting it off again. He shouldn’t have had to put this off. He wasn’t sure why it was so hard to just tell Derek.

“Is this your mom?” Stiles asked instead, eyes falling on a pretty woman with dark hair, her hand on a younger Derek’s shoulder. He felt Derek step up behind him.

“Yeah.”

“Did she die in the fire?” Stiles glanced at Derek, who had his arms crossed, chest rising and falling gently as he breathed.

“Everyone did. Except my sisters and our uncle.”

“My mom had a degenerative brain disease,” Stiles said, and he wasn’t sure why he was telling Derek. “She died when I was eight.”

Derek didn’t say anything, and Stiles turned from the pictures. Normally, he would do something to distract himself from the way his chest clenched when he thought of his mom. Shaking it away, he focused on Derek, on the crease between his eyebrows, the slight downturn to the edges of his mouth

“So I have some good news,” he said, trying to sound cheery, more excited than it actually felt. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

Derek uncrossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch as he searched Stiles’ face. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m keeping my promise,” Stiles said, keeping it light, swallowing down the rolling in his stomach, the sudden nerves like he was doing something more than what he should have done weeks ago. “We slept together and now you won’t have to see me anymore.”

Derek frowned slightly, and Stiles wasn’t sure how he’d expected this to go. A part of him had thought maybe Derek would be relieved. Or maybe, just maybe, Derek would tell Stiles he didn’t want him to go.

Neither of those things happened. Derek straightened up, jerking his head slightly. 

“You’re leaving?”

Stiles nodded, his stomach flopping over as he did. “I have a job interview next week in Oakland. My friend’s gonna let me stay with her for a few days.”

It was some tech company with a name Stiles wasn’t sure how to pronounce, some job in a back office with his own little computer and he’d have to dig his ties out of the boxes still stuffed in the back of his jeep.

“Okay,” Derek said at length, and Stiles had no idea what that meant. Derek’s face gave away nothing. No sadness or relief or regret.

“Okay?” Stiles repeated, unsure what else to say. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything more. Derek didn’t see Stiles as anything other than a nuisance. He certainly didn’t like Stiles, as was obvious from the way he said nothing else. “Is that it?”

Derek raised his eyes to Stiles, arms crossing again, defensive. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, and he didn’t. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Derek was supposed to confess his undying love for Stiles and tell him he shouldn’t leave, that he should stay here forever and they could raise puppies together and chop wood together and become local legends together. Maybe that was why none of his relationships ever worked out, because he was too focused on his fantasy version of the future. “Do you even care that I’m leaving?”

“Why?” Derek asked, gruff. “I knew this was coming.”

“How’d you know?” Stiles demanded because he hadn’t even decided until last week.

Derek scoffed, as though Stiles was an idiot for asking. Any regret Stiles had had was quickly turning to annoyance. Derek didn’t even like him, did he? What reason did he have for staying here?

“You came here on a rebound, Stiles. The first night I met you, you spent the whole time complaining about an ex and how much you hated being here. You were never staying.”

Stiles wanted to argue the point, but Derek was right. He had been pretty down on everything that first night.

“So you just don’t care?” he asked plainly, throwing up his hands.

Derek looked away, fingers gripping the back of the couch. “You were always leaving, Stiles.”

Stiles couldn’t believe that Derek didn’t care at all, not even the tiniest bit. He wasn’t even _trying_ to get him to stay.

Fine. If that was what Derek thought, then there really was no reason for Stiles to stay.

“Fine,” he said sharply, zipping up his hoodie. “I guess I won’t see you then.”

Derek said nothing as Stiles turned and headed for the front door, letting it shut too loudly behind him. Glancing back, he paused. He was making the right decision this time. He knew it.

Jumping the three steps off the porch, Stiles strode across the lawn for Scott’s house, determinedly not looking back again.

*

Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about Derek, about how completely nonplussed he’d been by Stiles’ announcement that he was leaving, like he had no opinion about it whatsoever. It made him angry and confused and a little sad if he admitted it.

Stiles needed a distraction, and the interview was still a week out, too much time to obsess over what he would wear and if this was going to be one of those annoyingly cool tech companies where there were no cubicles and a million distractions everywhere.

He was much earlier to the cafe than usual, unable to sit in Scott’s house any more and watch Derek’s front door like Derek might burst out of it at any moment to rush over and tell Stiles how wrong he’d been to just let him walk away.

Fantasy!Derek was apparently much more communicative than the real one.

The bell on the door jingled, but there was no one at the counter despite the line of several people waiting.

“Shit!” he heard as the fire alarm went off, beeping loudly in the back.

Stiles wasted no time vaulting the counter and sliding into the back room where Kira was hastily pulling out a tray of burned lumps and frantically waving away the smoke swirling around the detector.

“Kira?”

“Quick, open the back door!” she said, pointing at a heavy metal door.

Stiles pushed it open, propping it with a big rock and grabbing a tray to help Kira clear out the smoke. The alarm beeped again before going silent and Kira let out a breath.

“What happened?” Stiles asked, surveying the blackened lumps of dough, and Kira wiped sweat off her brow.

“I forgot they were in the oven,” she said, sounding exhausted. “I can’t believe I did that.”

“What were they supposed to be?”

“Scones,” Kira said, frowning at the tray. “I guess I’ll just have to tell everyone we’re out.”

Stiles wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he shook his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll make some.”

Kira shook her head quickly, placing a hand on his arm. “No, Stiles. Don’t worry about it. It was my mistake.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Stiles assured her. He needed a distraction anyway, and baking was something he could do. “Go help the customers.”

“Stiles, really,” she said, but he grabbed her shoulders and steered her to the door. 

“Really,” he said, giving her a shove forward. “I can fix it.”

Kira looked like she wanted to argue, but the line was growing even longer now, and Stiles let the door shut behind her and turned to the kitchen.

The blackened scones took a bit of scraping, but he got them off the pan and left it soaking as he pulled out the ingredients to make a new batch.

Time seemed to blur as he worked, the ease of baking coming back to him. He’d used to do this all the time in high school, to fill the hours he would have otherwise spent obsessing over life.

The scones were shaped, cut, and slid into the oven before he knew it and he reached for an orange, slicing into it.

“You look good.”

Stiles looked up to find Kira in the doorway, looking a little less stressed than before. He glanced down at his shirt, covered in flour.

“I look terrible.”

“You look like you know what you’re doing,” she corrected him.

He shrugged. “I used to use baking as a coping mechanism.”

“What do you use now?”

Stiles paused. His first thought was Derek, but that wasn’t right. Derek had stopped being a distraction once Stiles had started to like him. He’d become something more, and now, he was nothing to Stiles. He shook away the ache in his chest at the thought, like he actually cared that Derek had let go so easily.

“Nothing, I guess,” he said finally, squeezing out the orange juice.

“I hear you might be leaving us,” she said, watching him add the juice to powdered sugar.

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, stirring the mixture.

“I’ll miss having you come in,” said said, and Stiles looked up. “And I know Scott will miss having you around.”

It was so easy for her to say it, someone he didn’t even really know that well, but she said it. And she meant it. He could tell from the way she smiled at him, almost sad.

Derek probably wouldn’t miss him, he thought, turning to the oven as the timer went off. The scones were lightly browned as he pulled them out and set them on the counter to cool.

“I’ll miss you guys too,” he said, and it was the truth.

“You could always stay and be my baker forever,” she said, hopeful. “You’re already so much better than me.”

Stiles tasted the glaze. Delicious. He shook his head. “There are plenty of better bakers than me. You deserve one of them.”

Kira frowned, leaning against the door frame as Stiles checked the scones. “And you deserve a life you like,” she only said before she turned and went back to the front.

Stiles stood there for a minute, unsure what exactly that meant, and in the end, he pushed it aside and set about glazing the scones. Not everyone could live out their fantasy life.

*

It was too sunny for how Stiles felt, and he was almost glad as a cloud rolled across the sun and cast a shadow over Derek’s porch in the distance.

“You broke up with Derek, didn’t you?” Scott asked from behind Stiles.

“So?”

“So you probably shouldn’t be the one staring wistfully out the window,” Scott pointed out.

Stiles turned at that, affronted. “I was not staring wistfully.” If anything, he’d been glaring at Derek’s front door, daring him to come out and be happy without Stiles.

He was sure Derek was happy without him, without his incessant talking breaking up the silences, without Stiles’ questions about his life and his family that he never bothered to answer.

Clothes lay scattered over the couch and Stiles sighed at the mess. He was supposed to be packing, packing so he could get to Oakland for his interview in three days. He wasn’t supposed to be distracted by a car pulling down the driveway and stopping in front of Derek’s house.

Cora’s dirt-streaked car jerked to a stop, blocking Derek’s front porch, and Stiles watched her get out and slam the door behind her. He hadn’t seen her in weeks since her last visit, but he supposed he wouldn’t talk to her again now that he and Derek were over.

“You know,” Scott said, as Stiles grabbed his hoodie from the crack in the couch and attempted to fold it up. “It’s not a crime to like someone, even Derek.”

Stiles shot him a look. Was Scott actually advocating for Derek now?

“No,” Stiles agreed, shoving the hoodie in his suitcase. “But it would be idiotic to stay somewhere for a guy that doesn’t even care.”

“How do you know he doesn’t?”

Stiles sighed, throwing the next shirt on top of the hoodie. “Because when I told him I was leaving, he didn’t say anything. He didn’t even say that it had been fun or that he’d miss me. Nothing.”

Stiles wasn’t sure why it hurt so much, the fact that Derek didn’t care at all if he left. Apparently any feelings there’d been had all been in Stiles’ head.

“Did you really expect him to?” Scott asked with a laugh, and Stiles stared at him. “He’s Derek.”

“He’s not mute,” Stiles said, annoyed, jerking another shirt from the crack in the couch. “And even if he did care, I barely know him. It’s time to stop messing around and get a real job.”

“I don’t get this ‘real job’ thing,” Scott said, shaking his head at Stiles. “Wouldn’t you rather be happy?”

“We can’t all do what we want,” Stiles replied, shutting the suitcase and zipping it with a bit too much force.

“What does that mean?”

Sighing, Stiles turned to Scott. “It means I spend too much time in a fantasy world already. I need a job that’s going somewhere, that’s gonna be something. I can’t let my dad down.”

Stiles knew, deep down, that his dad didn’t care what job he had, if it was in an office or behind a stove, but Stiles had always felt like he needed to make something of himself. He couldn’t just let himself coast on happiness.

“Your dad would never be disappointed in you,” Scott said, but Stiles grabbed his suitcase and hauled it off the couch. He didn’t really want the ‘you’ll be okay’ speech right now.

“Is Isaac coming out with us tonight for my farewell drink?” he asked instead, pausing at the window.

Cora stood on Derek’s porch, arms crossed, and he could swear she was looking right at him as he moved on quickly.

“Yeah, he’ll be there,” Scott said, less enthusiastic than he should have been, but Stiles didn’t want to talk about his problems. For once, he wished everyone would just shut up.

*

The bar was more crowded than Stiles had expected it to be, and he edged through the clumps of people to where Scott and Isaac had already taken up a space at a table.

“Lots of people here,” he said over the chatter, and Scott shrugged.

“It’s the only bar in town,” Isaac replied. “Of course there’s lots of people here.”

Only one bar in town. Stiles was used to five within walking distance. The service was good, though, as Scott merely nodded at the girl behind the bar and she brought over a bottle without Stiles saying anything.

“Abandoning us already, huh?” Isaac asked, tossing back his beer. “Get tired of having to choose between the two pizza places?”

“It’s just time,” Stiles said, and Scott looked away from him, as though he didn’t believe that. Scott didn’t have to believe it. It was true.

“Maybe I’ll visit you someday,” Isaac said, but the way he said it, Stiles knew he wouldn’t.

“I’ll probably be back,” he said, taking a swig of his drink. “I mean, Scott’s still here. He needs someone to look after him, or look after his living room anyway.”

Isaac laughed and Scott rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t that Derek’s sister?” Scott asked, perking up as he caught sight of someone across the room.

Stiles’ stomach leapt as he twisted around and saw Cora’s long brown hair swish as she moved through the crowd. He needed more to drink.

He got half of his beer down before Cora appeared at their table, her smile tight as her eyes landed on him.

“Cora,” he said, half-coughing, half-choking. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the only bar in town,” she replied, and he wasn’t sure why he was nervous. It wasn’t like he’d broken up with her. “Seems a lot’s happened since I was here last.”

Stiles wiped his mouth and glanced at Scott, who purposefully didn’t save him.

“I’d say we’re all back where we started,” he said instead.

“And what’s this I hear about you leaving?” Her eyes were dark as they rested on him, like she knew more than she was letting on.

“Job interview in a couple days,” he said, swallowing thickly.

“You can’t leave, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned, confused. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

Stiles honestly had no idea, and neither did Scott or Isaac as he glanced at them and they both looked just as confused as he felt. 

“I—” he started to say, but she leaned in, cutting him off.

“I don’t know you, but I know my brother better than anyone. You shouldn’t give up.”

“I didn’t give up,” Stiles said, almost affronted. “I’m moving on.”

She shook her head slowly. “I know exactly what you’re thinking about Derek,” she said with a significant look as though he was supposed to know. “And you’re right. He’s never going to be one of those people who wears his heart on his sleeve. You’ve got to be perceptive enough to see it for yourself.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, frowning as she moved back.

“But he doesn’t care,” Stiles said as she took a step away from the table.

She turned back to him and paused, eying him up and down. “If that’s what you think, then maybe you should go.”

Stiles watched her disappear into the crowd, more confused than ever. Turning back to Isaac and Scott, he searched them for understanding, but Isaac was just watching her go and Scott was frowning at his bottle.

“That was weird, right?” Stiles asked, and Isaac nodded vaguely.

“Weird,” Scott echoed and looked away from Stiles. Instead, he gestured to the bartender. “Let’s get another round.”

Stiles didn’t bring it up again as they got new beers, but he didn’t stop thinking about what Cora had said the rest of the night, and he wondered if maybe he was giving something up by leaving.

*

“You’re seriously doing this?”

Stiles tossed his suitcase in the back of his jeep and shut the door, turning to Scott.

“It’s just an interview,” he said, although it felt like so much more than that. There was no guarantee of getting this job, but it already felt like goodbye.

Scott crossed his arms, shivering in the rain that fell lightly around them. It was a gloomy day, fog sitting heavy in the trees that morning.

“It’s not like I’m never going to see you again,” Stiles said, leaning against the car and forcefully _not_ looking at Derek’s house across the road. “You’re never getting rid of me.”

Scott didn’t smile, but he did let his arms fall. “Just tell me you’re not doing this because you think you have to,” he said finally, and Stiles sighed.

There were a lot of things he had to do. That was part of being an adult. Doing things you didn’t like now so your life would be better later. Not everything was instant gratification.

“I have to get a job, Scott,” Stiles said simply. “I can’t live on your couch forever.”

“I know that,” Scott said, frowning. “I just don’t want you to think you have to work in an office to be successful, to make your dad proud.”

Stiles nodded. “I have to get my life together somehow, and this is the only way I know how to do it.”

Scott sighed, but he grabbed Stiles into a hug, squeezing him tight. “If you change your mind, Kira has a job for you and I have a couch for as long as you want.”

Stiles smiled into Scott’s shoulder, tears pricking his eyes, unexpected.

“Not all fantasies are fake,” Scott said as Stiles stepped back, blinking away the tears and forcing himself to smile.

“I’ll text you when I get to Lydia’s,” he said, yanking open the car door and climbing inside.

“Yeah,” Scott said, stepping back, hands in his pockets.

As Stiles turned the key in the ignition, he couldn’t help looking, just glancing at Derek’s house, and he froze as he caught sight of Derek in the window, watching him.

He stared for several seconds, unsure of the way his chest clenched painfully at the sight, disappointment flooding him when Derek stepped back and disappeared into the shadows.

Finally, Stiles looked away and pulled down the drive, Scott remaining in his rearview mirror, getting smaller and smaller until he turned onto the road and Scott disappeared completely.

Stiles slowed down through town, as though maybe this was the last time he’d drive by the clinic with its happy pictures of puppies and kittens on the windows, the last time he’d hear the jingle of the bell as someone entered the cafe.

He felt an unfamiliar ache as the buildings dwindled, houses growing further and further apart, trees crowding the road as he headed for the highway. Stiles hadn’t known that he could get so attached to a place so quickly. He’d never felt this attached the Berkley, even after living there for several years. He’d certainly never felt this way about Beacon Hills.

The interview was waiting, like a hand beckoning Stiles nearer, and it began to rain harder as Stiles pulled onto the highway, a winding road that would eventually take him to the freeway and the rest of his life.

He was making the right decision, he told himself firmly as the car wound lazily around curves. He’d spent too much time trying to make fantasies work in his life. He’d spent his whole life chasing happiness. He’d followed Ethan all the way to the other side of the country for it.

So what was he doing now? He was going back to the life he’d had before Ethan. Back to offices and cubicles and the migraines that came with staring at computer screens all day. But it was reality.

Running towards happiness had always been his problem, he thought, reaching for the radio, but there was nothing but static out in the woods, chasing after whatever he thought would fix his life. Whether that was a guy or a job, he somehow always chose wrong.

This time, he wasn’t doing that. This time, he thought back to Kira smiling at him covered in flour, to Scott shoving him over on the couch so they could share the coffee table and eat Chinese food out of containers, to Derek standing in his window watching him leave.

He wasn’t running towards happiness, he realized as the freeway loomed into sight, cars zooming towards their destinations. He was running away from it.

He skidded to a stop on the side of the road, staring unseeingly at the steering wheel.

_You shouldn’t give up._

Cora’s voice echoed in his head as he sat there, rain pattering the windshield, obscuring his view. Was that what he was doing? Giving up?

He deserved more than this, he thought. He deserved an explanation and he deserved to be happy, not to use Derek as an excuse to leave a place he actually liked. Actually felt like he belonged for once.

Whipping the car around, Stiles sped back towards town. He was going to get his explanation. Derek owed him that much, and Stiles owed it to himself before he started running and didn’t stop.

*

Rain fell in thick, fat drops from the sky, splattering Stiles’ shirt as he slammed the car door behind him and jumped up the stairs of Derek’s deck, wasting no time banging a fist on the door.

“Derek!” he shouted, banging harder. “I know you’re there!”

Stiles stumbled as Derek yanked the door open, looking both surprised and surly as Stiles took a breath, feeling short of it, like he’d run all the way there instead of defying the speed limit in town and skidding around a few corners to get there. But Stiles wasn’t going to wait another minute for his answers.

“What are you doing?” Derek asked, as if genuinely shocked at Stiles showing up on his doorstep not an hour after leaving for good.

Stiles pushed past Derek without waiting for an invitation, hearing Derek shut the door behind him. He wasn’t leaving until Derek talked to him. Not this time.

In the living room, he turned to Derek, heart pounding dangerously fast against his ribcage. “I want an answer,” he said simply, bluntly.

“Answer to what?” Derek asked, eyebrows furrowing.

“I asked you if you cared,” Stiles said, meeting Derek’s eyes. “And you said nothing. You just let me leave, like that’s all you expected me to do. But I want to know the answer.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, and Stiles felt anger rising in him, overriding the nerves.

“No,” he said, sharp. “You don’t get to say my name in that tone, like there’s something you want to say but you’re never gonna say it. I can’t translate your feelings from a single word. I need more than that. I need the truth.”

Derek seemed to ruffle his shoulders, uneasy, not quite meeting Stiles’ gaze now. Stiles wasn’t sure he was going to say anything at all. Maybe he was making a mistake, coming back here, coming back to a place that felt like home and a guy who couldn’t even tell him how he felt.

“I guess that’s the truth,” Stiles said after a minute, stomach sinking down to his toes, a deep realization that Derek would never like him that way. He’d just been something to do.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek said as Stiles went to leave. Cautious, Stiles paused, glancing at Derek. Derek sighed. “I’m not going to ask you to stay.”

Stiles shook his head. “Why not?” Would that be so hard? To ask Stiles to stay? To tell him he liked him?

Derek turned to him, eyes a brighter blue than usual, and Stiles felt a sudden tug of something unfamiliar. “Because you can’t stay here for me,” Derek said finally. “You can’t make your life choices based on someone else. And I can’t make them for you either.”

Stiles hadn’t expected that. He’d thought maybe Derek was just too stubborn to say it, or maybe Derek just didn’t feel that way about him. He’d never considered that Derek was trying to be selfless.

Derek huffed, looking away from Stiles. “The first night I met you, you told me all about Ethan and how—”

“How I moved across the country for him,” Stiles finished, finally understanding. “And how it was a terrible decision.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow. “I’m not going to ask you to do that.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say to that, watching Derek scratch the back of his neck, almost like he was nervous, as nervous as Stiles felt again as he turned toward him fully.

“Then answer the question,” he said finally, stepping towards Derek. “Do you care about me?”

“Stiles,” Derek said in that same tone, and Stiles shook his head.

“In real words.”

His pulse thudded against his Adam’s apple as Derek looked up and he dropped his hand. “Yes,” he said with a small huff, and Stiles’ felt the balloon of hope filling inside him. “I do. You shouldn’t have to ask.”

“I do have to ask, and you have to say it,” Stiles said, swallowing the lump in his throat, nervous and excited. “How else am I supposed to know?”

Derek frowned, but Stiles didn’t care. He didn’t care because all he felt was overwhelming happiness, his hands shaking, like he’d had too much caffeine, every breath too short as he stepped up to Derek.

“I’ve spent a lot of time looking for a job I liked, a guy that made me happy, a place I belonged, and I thought I was going back to it in San Francisco, but I was just running from it here.”

Derek looked up. “You can’t stay for—”

“Derek,” Stiles interrupted him, using that same tone Derek used on his name, like he shouldn’t even have to say it, to even ask. Like he should know the answer. “I can do whatever I want. And that includes taking a job as a baker in the cafe and doing this.”

Leaning in, he slid his arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him, long and slow, his heart nearly bursting when Derek’s hands moved to his back, pulling him in closer. It may not have been a job in a cubicle in a big city or a boyfriend who spent too much time at the gym, but it was so much better than all of that, and Stiles knew, this time, it was the right decision.

“It took you a whole hour of driving to figure that out?” Derek asked when he pulled back, and Stiles shook his head, grinning.

“Shut up,” he said instead, pulling Derek back to his mouth and feeling Derek’s smile against his lips. Things were going to be okay this time. He could just feel it.

*

FIN.


End file.
